


My Home

by adiwriting



Series: My Home [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adiwriting/pseuds/adiwriting
Summary: Oliver and Felicity have been best friends since 1st grade. So when Oliver is found by some fishermen after he being lost at sea for 5 years, she’s ecstatic. The only problem is, the Oliver she lost, may not be the Oliver they found.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final installment in the "My Home" Series. I planned on posting this fic weeks ago, but what was supposed to be a one-shot grew into over a hundred pages and continues to do so. So I hope that what I lost in quick turn around I make up for in length. 
> 
> This is the smuttest thing I've ever written, so I do hope you guys enjoy it as it's somewhat new territory for me. Thanks to Megan for being the constant cheerleader and beta!
> 
> This story takes place in October of 2012. A complete timeline of this series can be found here  
> ([Home Verse Timeline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13304013))

**Starling City 2012**

Felicity is just finishing washing her makeup off when a knock at her bedroom door has her rolling her eyes. 

“I already told you, I’m not going out with you tonight,” she says, walking towards the door. “Some of us have to work in the morning.” 

When Felicity opens the door, she expects to see Tommy dressed for the clubs and ready with a witty remark. She does not expect to see him looking shell shocked, tears in his eyes, and hair a mess. 

She's only seen him look like this once before — the night he told her about the Gambit getting lost at sea. 

“What’s going on?” she asks as her mind instantly begins working through worst case scenarios. Somebody is hurt. Somebody’s been kidnapped. Somebody is dead. 

She can’t do this. Not again. 

“What happened?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, not sure if she really wants the answer. 

“They found him,” Tommy says, his voice shaky. 

“What?” 

“Oliver,” he says, a smile slowly forming on his lips. “They found him.” 

Felicity’s heart speeds up and hope begins to swell, but she tries to push it down. They’ve been here before, too many times. After Hong Kong, Felicity vowed that she wouldn’t let herself go through that heartbreak again. She can’t do it. 

She shakes her head. “No. Oliver is dead.” 

By now the smile on Tommy’s face is a mile wide and she wonders if he’s using again. He’s been known to hallucinate Oliver when he’s high, but he’s been clean for over a year as far as she knows. 

“It’s real this time,” Tommy says, reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s alive. Thea just called me.” 

“No,” she shakes her head, not daring to believe it. “We looked for him… We searched for years…” 

“I know, but they found him. Moira talked to him this evening. He’s coming home,” Tommy says. “Oliver is alive and coming home.” 

“He’s alive?” 

Tommy nods his head and pulls her in for a hug.

“I don’t understand,” she cries into his shoulder trying to process everything. 

She doesn’t understand how it is even possible. They searched for the Gambit for years. They hired people to do deep sea dives looking for their remains. They hired people to search any nearby land where they could have washed up. She had trackers on everyone’s accounts if they ever managed to make it back to the land of the living. They’d come up with nothing. The closest they ever came was in Hong Kong and the most that achieved was getting Tommy kidnapped and held for ransom before the police could rescue him. 

Why now? If Oliver really is alive, where has he been all this time? Why hadn’t they been able to find him? 

“Where has he been?” she asks. 

“He was stranded on an island. Some fishermen found him,” he says, rubbing her back in soothing circles, trying to get her to stop crying, but the tears won’t stop. She’s too overwhelmed with a million different emotions at the moment. 

“He’s been alive this whole time?” 

“Yeah,” he says.  

“Alone?” 

It had been her biggest fear for him if he had made it. That he would be the only survivor. That he would have spent the past 5 years alone. It was that thought that had kept her going in the search for so long, even when it felt pointless. The only reason she’d stopped searching was because of what happened to Tommy in Hong Kong. She hadn’t wanted to risk losing anyone else she cared about on what had started to look like a pipe dream. 

“Thea said nobody else made it.” 

“Oliver’s alive,” she says, taking a deep breath and letting the relief sink in along with the guilt. 

Tommy nods. “Oliver’s alive.”  

****

Through they’ve known of Oliver’s survival for almost a week, it takes him that long to make it back to Starling City. The Chinese government insists on putting him in quarantine until he can have a full work up from a doctor and the US Embassy has to confirm his identity before they will reissue him a passport. Contrary to popular belief, money can’t always buy everything. Felicity doesn’t know how anyone convinces Moira to stay in Starling and wait for Oliver to come home, but she suspects that it had to be a request from Oliver himself, otherwise Moira would have never listened. 

After all, she knows how antsy she is to see her best friend again, so she can only imagine how anxious Moira and Thea have to be feeling. 

“He flies in tonight,” Tommy tells her when she walks into the kitchen freshly changed out of her work clothes and into her pajamas. 

“I’m sure Moira and Thea are relieved,” she says, sitting down to the dinner Tommy has prepared for them. 

“I spoke with Raisa. Moira wants Oliver to be checked out by the doctor here first thing, but we can go over for dinner tomorrow.” 

Felicity freezes at that. “Dinner? At the Queens?” 

“You want to see Oliver, don’t you?” Tommy asks. 

Felicity reaches across the table to refill her wine glass. “Well yes, but Oliver isn’t who I’m worried about seeing. Moira is not going to want me there.” 

“You worry too much,” Tommy says. She notices his phone lighting up and when he glances over at it, he discreetly pulls it into his pocket like he’s actually hiding anything from her. 

“What are you going to do about that?” she asks, knowing that it had to be a message from Laurel. There’s nobody else that Tommy would try and hide from her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says. “I’m just saying, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” 

“If I want to talk about it,” Tommy says with a self-deprecating laugh. “What’s there to say? I’ve been screwing my previously dead best friend’s girlfriend and now he’s back…” 

“You were both grieving,” Felicity says, reaching her hand out to put it over his. “And considering the fact that Oliver sent me a drunken confession of love the night before he left and took off with Laurel’s sister, he doesn’t exactly have any room to be upset at you over Laurel.” 

Tommy shakes his head and Felicity lets it go. This is something he’s going to have to work through on his own. 

“So dinner tomorrow at the Queens,” she says, changing the subject and he sends her a grateful smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there the whole time,” Tommy says. “Besides, everyone will be so overjoyed to have Oliver back that Moira will barely notice you’re there. I promise.” 

“She does  _ know _ I’m coming, right?” Felicity asks. 

“Of course.” 

****

“You’re  _ sure _ that Moira is okay with this?” Felicity asks as they pull up to the Queen mansion the following evening. 

She hasn’t been in here in years, not since she moved away from Starling in 8th grade, but it’s just as big and imposing as she remembers it being. The only place she’d ever been comfortable in this house had been Oliver’s room. The rest of the home always felt cold and lonely. 

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Tommy asks as he puts the car in park and turns it off. 

Felicity glares at him. She doesn’t know if he’s deliberately being obtuse or not, but she doesn’t appreciate it. Her nerves are already through the roof. 

Moira has never liked Felicity, ever since the first day she came over to play with Oliver. The dislike only grew the older they got as Moira realized that Felicity wasn’t going anywhere. For years her dislike stemmed from the fact that Felicity lived in the Glades and thus Oliver often visited her in what Moira considered to be the ghetto. But dislike turned to pure hate when Moira found out that Oliver made the decision to get on the Gambit the day after Felicity turned him down. 

“I doubt she’s still holding onto that,” Tommy says.

“Really?” Felicity says, unamused. “Moira Queen isn’t going to hold onto the fact that she blames me for Oliver’s death?” 

“Well Oliver’s not dead,” Tommy says with a smirk, getting out of the car. 

“Somehow I don’t think that will matter to her,” Felicity mumbles to herself. 

Tommy comes around to open her door and pulls her reluctantly out of the car. 

“I thought you wanted to see Ollie,” he says. 

“I do,” she says. She just doesn’t want to have to see Moira. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “Come on.” 

Tommy doesn’t bother with knocking, something only he can get away with. He just opens the door and steps right in. Felicity freezes on the porch as she catches sight of Oliver in the entryway. Her heart gets stuck in her throat and the breath leaves her body. 

It’s really him. They hadn’t been lying to her. Oliver’s really alive. No matter how many times Tommy had assured her that it was true, there was part of her that refused to believe it. That refused to hope. But now, here he stands, alive and well, and she feels like she might faint. 

“What did I tell you, yachts suck,” Tommy says, causing Oliver to turn around with the trademark smile of his that she feel in love with all those years ago. 

He looks different. He’s bigger, which is surprising. She’d been expecting him to be wilted away to nearly nothing like Tom Hanks in Castaway, but he’s built. His arms look significantly more muscular and she has to stop herself from thinking about how they would feel around her body… Now is hardly the time for those old fantasies to resurface. 

Oliver’s eyes meet hers as he hugs Tommy and it’s like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com. The world actually slows down and all she can see is him. 

She wants to go to him, but she can’t get her body to move. What if she’s just dreaming this? What if she wakes up and he’s gone again? 

This can’t be real. 

Felicity doesn’t get happy endings. 

“Felicity,” Oliver says her name like a prayer and it’s those words that spur her into action. She runs into his arms with such force that he actually has to take several steps back in order to keep them from falling over. 

“I looked for you everywhere, I couldn’t find you,” she says into his shoulder as his strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her up and onto her toes so he can bury his nose in her neck like he used to do. “I had trackers on your email accounts and social media. I hacked into satellites to run facial recognition. I swear, we tried everything. We looked for you. We did—” 

“Felicity,” Oliver cuts her off and his breath against her ear causes a shiver to run down her back, effectively shutting her up. “It’s okay. I’m home now. I’m home.” 

He says the words with an extra tight squeeze and she gets the distinct impression that he’s not just talking about being back in Starling, but before she can ask him about it, they are interrupted by somebody clearing their throat. 

Oliver lets go of her and she takes a step back from him to look at Moira. 

“Ms. Smoak,” Moira says with a cool tone that is probably supposed to sound polite, but Felicity can hear the malice behind it. “Tommy didn’t tell us you would be joining us this evening.” 

“Well, I didn’t… I thought that… Tommy said…” Felicity shoots Tommy a glare that he ignores as she stumbles over her words trying to come up with a good excuse for being here without an invitation. 

“I figured the more the merrier,” Tommy rescues her with a warm smile, walking over to give Moira a hug. “I hope that’s not a problem.” 

“I can just go,” Felicity says, inching towards the door. 

She knew this wasn’t a good idea. As much as she wants to spend time with Oliver after 5 years away, she does not need to spend the evening with Moira shooting her dirty looks and making condescending comments every chance she can. Oliver’s back. He's not leaving again, she reminds herself. She can catch up with him another time. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Oliver says, grabbing onto her wrist before she can make a run for it. “Raisa always cooks more than enough to go around. It’s not a problem.” 

“Of course not,” Moira says, though she can tell it pains her to say it. “I’ll just tell the staff to set another place.” 

“I’m going to kill Tommy,” Felicity mumbles under her breath as Tommy follows Moira out of the room. 

“Don’t do that. I’m glad you’re here,” Oliver says, pulling her in for another hug. “I’ve missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” she says, all anxiety gone the second his arms are around her again. She melts into him. 

Oliver pulls away and helps her out of her jacket before taking her purse and handing both items off to one of the mansion’s many staff members.  

“I didn’t realize you and Tommy were so close,” Oliver says as he places his hand at the small of her back and leads her in the direction of the dining room. 

“Oh yeah,” she says. “We actually live together.” 

Oliver’s hand drops to his side and she can feel the air in the room get tense. She turns to look at him in confusion, unsure of what it is that she’s said wrong. Was she not supposed to become friends with Tommy? Before the Gambit went down, Oliver was always pressuring her to hang out with Tommy more. Sure, he used to hit on her to make Oliver jealous, but he was never serious. Oliver knew that. It’s why he pushed them to be friends. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, unsure why she’s apologizing exactly. She shouldn’t have to feel bad that Tommy and her ended up leaning on each other when the Gambit went down. “Things weren’t great for us. I mean, I’m sure they were better than wherever you were, and I’m sorry about that. But things were hard without you and Tommy was there.”  

“You don’t have to explain,” Oliver says cooly. 

Felicity reaches out her hand to place it on his arm and thankfully, he doesn’t flinch away from her touch. 

“He’s my friend, but that doesn’t mean I missed you any less,” she says. 

“Friend?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” she says, giving him a strange look as the mood in the room instantly lifts.  

“Alright,” Oliver says, placing his hand on her back once again to lead her into the dining room. “We should go eat before my mom has an aneurysm.” 

They step into the room and Oliver leads Felicity to her chair, pulling it out for her like the gentleman he’s always been. At least that much hasn’t changed, even though she can tell a lot of other things certainly have, for starters, his sheer body mass… Not that she's noticing. 

She's most certainly  _ not  _ having inappropriate Tarzan fantasies at the moment. That would be wrong. 

She settles into her seat between Oliver and Tommy, and uses the opportunity to reach out and pinch Tommy’s leg as hard as she can. 

“What was that for?” He glares at her, as if he doesn’t already know. 

“You told me that she knew,” she whispers, not wanting to be overheard. 

“I find it’s always better to ask forgiveness rather than permission,” Tommy says with a wink, not in the least bit apologetic. She rolls her eyes and makes a silent vow to get him back when he least expects it. 

“Are we interrupting something?” Moira asks, raising her eyebrow in their direction. 

“Felicity was just telling me how much she missed Raisa’s cooking,” Tommy lies effortlessly. 

“You and me both,” Oliver says.  

“No roast on the island?” Tommy jokes. 

Oliver laughs, and to the untrained ear it would sound natural, but Felicity can tell there’s something just slightly off about it. 

“So what have I missed?” Oliver asks the table after a few moments of awkward silence. “I’ve been gone for 5 years. When I left Thea was still in pigtails and braces.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Thea grumbles. 

“Well I finally graduated college with the help of this one,” Tommy says, pointing to Felicity. “It’s no double major and two master's degrees but dear dad was still shocked.” 

“I bet,” Oliver says, shaking his head before turning his attention to her. “So that means you ended up getting both your masters then?” 

Felicity nods, blushing at the look of pride on Oliver’s face. 

“And what are you doing now?” Moira asks, feigning curiosity. “Still an IT girl?” 

Felicity bites her tongue at the way Moira says IT girl as if it’s a dirty word. It’s the same way that Moira used to tell the other parents that her mother was a cocktail waitress and that was why she couldn’t make it to school events. Like the two of them are no better than a prostitute working the street.

Alright fair. There were certainly days in the beginning when she was constantly clearing porn off of servers that she started to feel dirty, but working in IT is nothing to scoff at. Last week alone she managed to stop a Chinese hacker group from getting into their files and attempting to hold the company’s servers for ransom. It takes a lot of intelligence and determination to have gotten where she is today in such a male dominated field and she’s damn proud of her job. 

“I’m actually Head of the IT department at Merlyn Global,” she says, trying to keep her voice civil. Oliver just got home. She’s sure that he doesn’t want his welcome back dinner to turn into a fight.  

“Malcolm is lucky to have you,” Walter says, kindly.  

Felicity’s always liked him. She’s not sure how Moira ended up with such a kind man. Tommy tells her that Moira has a good heart, but Felicity’s never seen proof the woman even has one. “If I remember correctly, Queen Consolidated has tried multiple times to steal you away with no success.” 

“You have?” Moira asks with a tone of surprise.  

“I’m happy where I am,” Felicity says, not bothering to add that it would be a cold day in hell the day she ever agreed to work for Moira Queen. 

“You should tell them the exciting news,” Tommy says. 

“News?” Oliver asks. 

“Next month, I’ll be taking over as Head of R&D when Ryan Davenport retires,” Felicity says, unable to hide her excitement. She still can barely believe that she’s been offered her dream job. Malcolm gave her the position after hearing her vision to turn Merlyn Global into the next powerhouse tech company to rival even Palmer Tech. 

“I didn’t realize Ryan Davenport was retiring already,” Walter says. 

“It was a surprise to us all,” Felicity says.  

“Nobody more than the soon to be ex-Mrs. Davenport,” Tommy says with a snicker. “Seems that Mr. Davenport met wife number 4 while vacationing in the Caymans two weeks ago.” 

Moira gasps in shock. “Poor April.” 

“Well that’s what she gets for breaking up his second marriage,” Thea says under her breath, but not quietly enough. Moira shoots her a dirty look. “What? It’s true. Eva Davenport told me.” 

“I’m sure there’s a more appropriate conversation to be having right now,” Moira says. “Oliver doesn’t want to hear the neighborhood gossip.” 

“Congrats on the job. I know it’s always been your dream,” Oliver says, reaching out to put his hand on her thigh, where nobody else can see. Unfortunately, the shock of it causes her to knock over her wine glass, earning her yet another glare from Moira as Raisa moves in to clean up after her. 

“I’m so sorry,” Felicity says, trying to help the woman, but Raisa just shoos her hand out of the way. 

“Smooth, Smoak,” Tommy laughs. 

Felicity gives him a dirty look. 

The room goes quiet as the conversation lulls for a moment or two, but thankfully Raisa comes out a moment later with their entrees, giving them the perfect distraction.

“It looks delicious,” Felicity tells Raisa as a plate is put in front of her.  

“Yes, Raisa, thank you,” Tommy says as he starts to dig into his plate. “Okay. What else did you miss? Superbowl winners: Giants, Steelers, Saints, Packers, Giants again… A black president. That’s new. Oh, and Lost? They were all dead. I think.” 

“For the last time, they were not all dead,” Felicity says rolling her eyes. “How many times are we going to go over this?” 

“Were they not all dead in that church?” Tommy asks. 

“They were dead at the end. But they weren’t dead the entire time,” she says with a long suffering sigh. 

“I guess we’ll have to have Ollie over for a binge night so he can decide for himself,” Tommy says, giving Oliver a wink. 

“If we’re going to binge watch shows that Oliver missed, I have a list,” Felicity says, immediately starting to think of all the important shows they’ll need to catch Oliver up on. Movies, too. There have been so many good movies…  

“What was it like there?” Thea asks and instantly the room goes quiet as everyone looks around awkwardly, trying to figure out if they should step in despite the fact that they all obviously want to hear Oliver’s answer. 

“Cold,” he finally says after several tense moments.  

Felicity has an image of a cold, wet Oliver huddled under a tree for shelter as he tries to build a fire but doesn’t know how. Instantly, her appetite is gone. While she’d been living her life, getting her dream job, and living in a spacious downtown apartment with Tommy, Oliver’d been stuck on a cold deserted island all alone. It’s not right.  

“Tomorrow, you and me, we’re doing the city,” Tommy says, thankfully breaking up the tension. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on.” 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Moira jumps in.  

“Will you be there?” Oliver asks her. 

“Felicity probably has to work, right?” Moira answers for her. “What with your new promotion and all.” 

Felicity is tempted to call in sick just to annoy Moira, but she’s right. Felicity really can’t miss any work right now. 

“I can’t,” Felicity says and the way his face falls just the slightest bit pulls at her heart and makes her wonder. Is it possible that he still feels the same way about her after all this time? After she’d turned him down because she hadn’t been ready at the time? 

“But you can come over for dinner after I get off?” she offers.  

“And by dinner, she means she’ll order us all something,” Tommy says. “The first night we moved in together Felicity tried to cook me pasta and I ended up in the ER.” 

“Do you always have to tell this story?” Felicity asks, blushing. While she’s not usually that embarrassed about her lack of cooking skills, she doesn’t exactly want to give Moira anything else to add to the list of grievances against her. 

“Oh, I remember her legendary culinary skills well,” Oliver says with a smile. “Only girl that ever tried to feed me burnt cookies on my birthday.”

“Har har. Let’s all make fun of Felicity,” she says.  

“Sorry, Love,” Tommy says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “But I did offer to pay for cooking classes and you turned me down.”  

“I turned you down because the implication that I would ever have to cook simply because I’m the woman in our home is sexist and I…” Felicity trails off before her rant can really get going when she remembers where she is and sees the way Moira is looking at her. She puts her foot out, ready to bolt at any moment. This dinner cannot get any more awkward. 

“So, where are you going to take Oliver tomorrow?” she asks, changing the subject, willing everyone to stop staring at her. 

“I’d like to stop by the office,” Oliver says and Felicity is shocked. Oliver never once showed an interest in his father’s company except to show up at the start of summer each year to introduce himself to the new interns. 

“Well there’s plenty of time for all that,” Walter says. “Queen Consolidated isn’t going anywhere.”  

At that moment, Raisa ends up tripping over Felicity’s foot and tumbles into Oliver, who thankfully manages to catch both her and the dish she’s carrying. 

“I am so sorry Mr. Oliver,” Raisa says. 

Felicity is about to apologize as well when Oliver begins speaking Russian. 

She’s surprised and completely confused. 

“Dude, you speak Russian?” Tommy says, voicing all of their thoughts. 

Oliver Queen is many things, but fluent in Russian isn’t one of them. 

What exactly happened to him on that island? she wonders. 

“I didn’t realize you took Russian at college, Oliver,” Walter says. 

Because he didn’t, Felicity thinks, eyeing him carefully, trying to figure out the mystery that has been placed before her. 

The island they found him on was deserted. How could he have picked up a new language? And even if that was possible, wouldn't he have picked up Mandarin? Or possibly Cantonese? Learning Russian seems unlikely. They'd found him in the North China Sea. 

“I didn’t realize you wanted to sleep with my mother, Walter,” Oliver says. 

The silence that falls over the room is awkward and uncomfortable. Felicity looks at Oliver, but she can’t tell how he’s feeling. She doesn’t know if he’s angry that his mom moved on, or just hurt. She can’t read him and that only further emphasizes to her that a lot has happened in the 5 years he’s been away. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Thea says. 

“She didn’t have to,” Oliver says. 

“Oliver,” Moira says, reaching out to take Walter’s hand. 

Tommy and Felicity share a look. They both know how hard it is to see a parent move on with somebody who isn’t your mom or dad. She silently tries to ask Tommy if he thinks that Oliver is alright and thankfully, living together for the last four years means that he knows what she’s asking. He just shrugs. 

“Walter and I are married. And I don’t want you to think that either one of us did anything to disrespect your father.” 

“We both believed that Robert, like you, was, uh, well, gone,” Walter adds. 

“It’s fine,” Oliver says, even though it sounds anything but. 

Felicity reaches out to put her hand on his thigh in comfort but he stands up before she can. “May I be excused?” 

Moira nods and Oliver goes to leave. She wants to say something to him. She wants to make sure that he’s okay, but words won’t come. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. She used to always know how to make him feel better, but she’s starting to realize that more may have changed between them than she’d like to admit. He’d been gone for 5 long years and she can only imagine what that had to do to him. 

Oliver squeezes her shoulder in a silent goodbye. 

“Hey, don’t forget about tomorrow, buddy,” Tommy says and Oliver gives him one quick pat on the shoulder in conformation and winks at Thea before leaving without another word. 

“I swear I didn’t tell him,” Thea says, defensively. 

“We know,” Moria says. 

The room falls into silence as everyone begins inspecting their plates much closer than is necessary. 

She’s worried about Oliver. It must be so difficult for him to adjust to being back. For him to come home to his entire world changed. Maybe he too, like them, expected everything to magically go back to the way things were before. 

“Maybe I should go check on him,” Felicity says, but instantly regrets it when Moira says, “I don’t think that’s appropriate. This is a family matter.” 

“Right,” she says, biting her lip. Family. Something Felicity is not a part of. Despite the fact that Felicity always considered Oliver family, she is  _ not _ a Queen and Moira likes to make that abundantly clear. 

She sends Tommy a pleading look. Now that Oliver is gone, she wants to leave.

Thankfully, Tommy’s skilled at reading a room and knowing what people want, even if he doesn’t always listen. 

“We should get going,” Tommy says, placing his napkin in his plate and standing up. “Felicity has to work early tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening.” 

“Thank you for coming, Tommy,” Moira says, casually leaving Felicity out. “Oliver was happy to see you.” 

Moira’s voice is shaky and she sounds like she’s about to cry. Which is a far cry from the woman Felicity is used to seeing, but then again, it’s been a hard 5 years for all of them. 

“Hey, he’s back,” Tommy says, moving to give her a hug. “Let’s just focus on that. Everything else will come with time.” 

Moira nods, patting Tommy on the hand in thanks when they pull apart. “Drive safe. These roads aren’t well lit at night.” 

“I remember,” Tommy says with a smile. “Have a good night.” 

Tommy walks her out of the room and back to the main entrance where a maid brings her her coat and purse. Felicity eyes the stairs. 

“Do you think we should go check on him?” she asks. “He looked upset.” 

“Just give him some time,” Tommy says. “I’m sure it’s hard being back after being away so long. We can talk to him some more tomorrow.”  

“Yeah,” she says, knowing that he’s right even if the thought of leaving makes her heart hurt. Five years ago, it wouldn’t have even been a question. If Oliver was upset, she would have been up those stairs in a heartbeat. She would have been the only person that Oliver would have been willing to talk to.  

****

“So…” Tommy says as they make their way back into the city towards their shared apartment downtown. 

“So?” she asks, though she can tell by his tone of voice exactly what he’s about to ask her. 

“So you and Oliver,” he says, giving her a knowing look.

“There is no me and Oliver,” she says, not wanting to talk about it, but knowing that Tommy won’t drop it. 

The two of them have spent too many nights talking over bottles of wine. Tommy knows all about Oliver’s drunken confessions to her and how she’d refused to get on the Gambit with him. He knows that it’s one of Felicity’s biggest regrets. When she’d told Tommy about her feelings for Oliver, she’d said them under the impression that Oliver was gone forever. If she knew he was going to come back to them, she would have kept said feelings to herself. Tommy Merlyn is like an old lady at church that’s constantly butting into everyone’s business and trying to fix people’s problems. She knows that his line of questioning means Oliver and her have just become his next project. 

“I watched that hug when he saw you for the first time.” 

Felicity looks out the window so that Tommy won’t see her blushing. Oliver had held her rather tight, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

“He’s been gone for five years, Tommy,” she says, wishing he’d drop the subject. At least for the night. There’s too much going on in her head and too many emotions over Oliver being back that she can’t process everything that happened tonight. She wants some time to work through her feelings and Oliver’s actions for her before she has to discuss them with Tommy. “A lot has changed.” 

“And one thing hasn’t changed even a little bit,” Tommy says with a smirk. “He still looks at you like you hung the moon.” 

“My north star,” she whispers to herself.  

It had been one of the last things Oliver ever said to her before he died. She still has that voicemail saved on her old phone that she’s never been able to get rid of. She still listens to it when she’s having a bad day. 

Felicity isn’t completely naive. She’d seen Oliver’s glances at her over dinner. Hell, he’d even put his hand on her thigh. But she also doesn’t want to read too much into anything right now. He’s only just gotten back from years away. He’s changed, and she doesn’t even know yet how much. _She’s_ changed. For all she knows, Oliver may not like the woman she’s become anymore. She can’t get lost in fantasies of them reuniting. Not yet. Not until she knows for sure where his head's at.   

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asks, changing the subject. She still can’t get over the fact that he suddenly knows Russian, or the fact that his laugh had sounded forced when Tommy made a joke about the island. 

“I don’t know,” Tommy says with a deep sigh. “I’m sure it’s not easy being back. But that’s what we’re here for, right? To help him get back to himself again?” 

Tommy reaches out to take her hand over the center console. She allows herself to take comfort in the fact that he’s here with her right now, even though she’d rather be back at the mansion with Oliver.  

“What do you think happened to him there?” 

Tommy shakes his head. She’d asked him this question before, so she knows that Tommy hadn’t known much beyond what Moria told him about there being a lot of scarring. Still, she feels the desperate need to know exactly what Oliver went through and she doesn’t know who else to talk to about it. It’s clear that Oliver doesn’t want to talk about the island based on his reaction to Thea’s question at dinner. 

“It’s not something I want to think too long about,” he says, shaking his head. “Because then I’ll have to feel guilty over not doing enough to find him… I’m sure that whatever happened, none of it was good.” 

She nods, knowing that he’s right. “He needs time to get readjusted.” 

Tommy nods. “We’ll help him.” 

Felicity nods in agreement. If there’s one thing she’s always been good at, it’s helping Oliver. She couldn’t be with him the last 5 years to help, and that’s her fault for not getting on the Gambit with him, but she’ll be damned if she lets him go through anything else alone again.  

****

Felicity sits at her desk, working through project proposals from her team when the text comes in. 

**From Tommy:** _ He wants to see Laurel. _

Felicity’s heart drops to her feet. She’s not sure why she’s surprised. After all, it makes sense, Oliver and Laurel had been dating when he’d boarded the Gambit. Hell, they’d been about to move in together. Of course he would want to see her. Why should she think that some drunken phone calls made to her would change any of that? 

**From Felicity:** _We ll that’s not going to end well…_

Felicity hasn’t been around Laurel often in the last 5 years. Laurel has never been a fan of her, and that feeling is mutual. However, with Tommy and her sleeping together, she’s fairly aware of all things Laurel. And from her impression, Laurel was none too pleased with Oliver’s decision to take her sister out on the Gambit — not that any reasonable woman would be. Felicity can't imagine she’ll be happy to see Oliver again. 

Then again, their anger with each other always burned bright but died out fast... 

She bites her lip and tries not to worry too much about it. 

She attempts to return her focus to the files at her desk. She has plenty of work to do here without being distracted by Oliver’s fascination with Laurel. If he wants to run back into her arms, it’s not really any of her business. And if Laurel is going to pull a typical Laurel and take him back, what should she care? Oliver and her are just friends. She had her chance, and she didn’t take it. 

She really shouldn’t care. 

So why does she feel like she’s going to be sick.  

**From Tommy:** _ Well, she didn’t slap him in the face… But she may as well have based on the way he’s looking. We’re coming to get you for lunch.  _

She rolls her eyes at Tommy’s text. They’d already had this discussion this morning and she’d informed him that she wasn’t available. 

**From Felicity:** _ I told you that I was going to have to work through lunch if I wanted to get home in time for dinner tonight.  _

**From Tommy:** _ One of the benefits to my name being on the building you currently work at? I can steal you away whenever I want and nobody will question it. You can even call it a working lunch if you would like.  _

Felicity has to laugh at that. 

**From Felicity:** _Do you even know what a working lunch is? Have you ever worked a day in your life?_  

**From Tommy:** _ I’ve done plenty of hard work in my time, it just happens after hours in dark rooms with good booze ;)  _

_ We’re on our way. We’ll be there to get you in ten.  _

Felicity doesn’t bother protesting any more. She’s known Tommy long enough to know that no is not a word in his dictionary. Besides, she’s hungry and her best friend has just returned after 5 years of being lost at sea. She can afford to take a lunch break. 

After all, she really should get Sanders to work through the project proposals instead. It is going to be his job in a month and he’s got to start training for it. 

She packs up the folders and puts them back in her to do tray before grabbing her purse and heading downstairs to meet Tommy out front. The last thing she wants is for Tommy and Oliver to come upstairs to get her and make a spectacle. Oliver being back is big news and Felicity has fielded enough questions from her staff about his return without him showing up at the office. 

She stands outside for fifteen minutes before she starts to get annoyed. The two of them are perpetually late for everything, but Tommy knows how much she hates it. She's yelled at him before for it. She can't take long off for lunches and he knows that. 

Twenty five minutes of waiting and she sends him a text. 

**From Felicity:**

_ If you're not here in five minutes I'm going back inside and eating without you two. Some of us have to work for a living.  _

When that doesn't earn her a witty reply back, she starts to wonder what it is exactly that they are doing. Tommy always texts back right away, even if he's driving.  

At the thirty minute mark, she gets genuinely pissed off. Tommy had texted her to say they were on their way and CNRI is barely a 10 minute drive. She knows that the two of them can both be rather flaky, but had they seriously forgotten about her? 

“I swear to god, Merlyn, you'd better be lying in a ditch somewhere,” she grumbles as she dials his number. 

“Hello, this is Detective Hilton, who is this?” 

Felicity’s heart leaps into her throat and she feels like she can't breathe. She'd only been joking. It's a saying… She didn't  _ actually  _ hope something had happened to Tommy. To either of them. 

Oh god. 

“Hello?” Hilton says. 

“Where’s Tommy?” she asks, her voice shaking with fear.

“Tommy?” Hilton says. “Ma’am, there's been an incident. We are still trying to ID all parties involved. Can you tell me who's phone this is?”

The blood rushes to her ears and suddenly everything sounds a million miles away. The entire world freezes and she feels frozen in her place. This can't be happening. Not again. 

What does an incident even mean? Is he dead?  

Please, if there’s any mercy in the world, they cannot be dead. She can’t lose them. 

A man pushes into her on the street and it causes everything to come screaming back into focus. The sounds of people walking past, the cars on the street, the Evangelist on the corner lecturing about sin. It's overwhelming, but she has to focus. Her boys need her right now. She instantly begins looking around, like they will suddenly appear in front of her. 

“Ma’am?” Hilton says. 

“Tommy Merlyn,” she responds suddenly. “He was with Oliver Queen. Please tell me they are okay.” 

“They’re not here,” Hilton says. “There's a car registered to Malcolm Merlyn. Silver sports car?”

“That's Tommy’s car. Where are they?” Felicity asks. Her mind is going a hundred miles a minute trying to figure out what to do. How is she supposed to help them if she doesn't even know what happened. 

“The car belongs to Tommy Merlyn, he was with Oliver Queen,” Hilton shouts out to somebody in the background. 

“Queen? You don't think this was a kidnapping do you?” a voice in the background says. 

“Kidnapping?” Felicity asks.  

“I need to go. Thank you for your help,” Hilton says before hanging up on her. 

Her knees give out on her and she stumbles backwards. She collides with the building and slides down until she's sitting on the pavement. She can’t breathe. Her entire body is shaking. 

Tommy and Oliver have been kidnapped. She's not even sure how it's possible. They've already gone through this, in Hong Kong. How can this be happening again? She only  _ just _ got Oliver back. 

She takes a deep breath and counts slowly backwards from ten like her therapist taught her to do back when she was having more regular panic attacks. When she's done, she still feels panicked, but it's manageable. And she needs manageable because her boys need her right now. 

She pulls her tablet out of her purse and immediately starts hacking into traffic cameras, trying to figure out if she can determine who took them. As she hacks away, she runs back inside to her office. She's going to need more juice than her tablet can manage if she's going to run facial recognition.

She’ll be damned if she lets something happen to either of them. Not again. 

****

It’s several hours later when Felicity rushes past Raisa and follows the sound of voices to the sitting room where, thankfully, Oliver and Tommy are. 

“Oh thank god,” she says.  

Both boys stand up and she runs straight into Tommy’s arms, squeezing him tight.  

“We’re okay,” he says, rubbing her back. 

She lets go of him and pulls Oliver into an equally tight hug. 

“I kept having flashes of you being kidnapped in Hong Kong,” Felicity tells Tommy when she steps back. “I was so worried.” 

Oliver tenses up at her words, but she brushes it off as a reaction to her bringing up the word kidnapping. 

“I thought I lost you again,” she says, reaching out to put her hands on both her boy’s arms to reassure herself that they really are here. They are both okay. Those men in those creepy masks didn’t kill them. She can breathe again. 

“I’m right here,” Oliver says with a kind smile. 

“You’re not hurt?” she asks, checking them both over for injuries. 

“We’re alright,” Tommy says. “Take a breath, Smoak.” 

“Smoak? Felicity Smoak?” Lance’s partner, Detective Hilton she’s pretty sure, steps up. “You’re the girl from the phone.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Thank you for finding them.” 

Detective Lance laughs at that, causing all eyes in the room to look his way. 

“We didn’t find them,” Lance says in the sarcastic tone he has reserved specifically for Tommy over the last five years. Now that Oliver is back, she can only imagine how bad he’ll get it from Lance. In fact, she’s surprised he’s even allowed to work this case.  

“Apparently they got rescued by some man in a green hood,” Lance says. 

“What?” Felicity says, utterly confused. “What do you mean you were rescued by a man in a green hood?” 

Felicity looks first to Tommy who shrugs, and she can tell he doesn’t really know much but it’s Oliver’s reaction that catches her eye. He’s completely calm. 

Too calm, she thinks. 

They’d just been drugged and kidnapped by several men in masks holding military grade guns. She’d seen the video from the traffic cam she’d hacked into. How isn’t he more freaked out about this? 

“We were kidnapped. A man in a green hood showed up and took care of it,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. “Are we about done here?” Oliver asks.  

Took care of it. It’s an odd turn of phrase to use when discussing your own life threatening event isn’t it? You take care of a hang nail. If it’s 1920s Chicago, a mob boss might take care of a nark or something. This mystery man in the green hood didn’t ‘take care of it,’ he saved their lives. 

Felicity narrows her eyes and studies Oliver, trying to figure out why it is that he can have such little reaction to what happened. She’d like to believe that experiencing one life threatening event doesn’t make additional life threatening events irrelevant. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Lance says with a self-satisfied smirk. “One day back and already somebody’s gunning for you? Aren’t you popular?” 

Felicity’s attention moves to Lance and she instantly shifts into Momma Bear mode. She crosses her arms and moves to stand in front of Oliver and Tommy. Lance has always been an ass, but it’s been understandable. After all, his daughter died after sneaking off with Oliver. Lance blames the Queens — and by extension, Tommy — for her death. But this is crossing the line. Oliver and Tommy had just been kidnapped. They could have died. Yet here he is revealing in it and she’s not going to stand for it. 

“Were you able to identify the men?” Moira asks, looking to Detective Hilton for answers, since all they’re getting out of Lance are more condescending remarks. 

“Scrubbed identities. Untraceable weapons,” Hilton says. “These were pros.” 

Tommy catches her eye and he doesn’t have to say anything. She nods her head slightly. Untraceable weapons and scrubbed identities or not, she’s in the process of figuring out who this was. Nobody threatens her family and gets away with it. As soon as the detectives leave, she’ll get back to work. 

“Yeah. Well, they probably figured you’d pay a king’s ransom to get your boy back. Or a Queen’s ransom as it were,” Lance says.  

“Excuse you?” Felicity says taking a step towards him, but Oliver reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder and hold her back. 

“It’s fine,” Oliver says. 

“I don’t find your tone appropriate, Detective,” Moira says, remaining as composed as ever, but Felicity knows that tone of voice well. Moria isn’t a woman to be messed with. 

“If Oliver can think of anything else, he’ll be in touch. Thank you, gentlemen, for coming,” Walter says, effectively breaking up the tension in the room and ending the conversation. 

Lance chuckles as he gathers his things and it’s only Oliver’s hand on her shoulder that keeps her from lashing out in rage. 

“You’re luck never seems to run out, does it?” Lance says, sizing Oliver up for several long seconds before finally allowing Raisa to escort them out of the house.  

“Luck?” Felicity scoffs.

“‘Lis, don’t,” Tommy says with a warning tone. 

“No. He’s been harassing you for years, and I’ve let it go because we all know he’s grieving for Sara, but the two of you were just kidnapped and he wants to talk about luck? There’s nothing lucky about what just happened or what Oliver went through.” 

“She’s right,” Moira says, shocking everyone in the room, nobody more than Felicity. 

“Just let it go,” Oliver says.  

“He has no right to talk to you like that,” Moira says. 

“I killed his daughter,” Oliver says solemnly. “He can talk to me however he wants.” 

And with that, Oliver walks out of the room without another backwards glance, leaving them all speechless and her to wonder, once again, what exactly happened to him on that island. 

**** 

“We are not watching Criminal Minds,” Felicity groans at the opening theme music playing on the TV. 

“It’s Wednesday night. We always watch Criminal Minds,” Tommy says, carrying their takeout over to the coffee table where she’s set up her workstation. She’s been working like crazy trying to find out who the men that kidnapped Oliver and Tommy are and who the mysterious man in the green hood is. 

“Do you see me here?” she says. “Our life just became an episode of Criminal Minds. Do you really want to watch a show about serial killers when you almost died today?”

“‘Lis, look at me,” he says.  

She refuses to meet his eyes until he sits down next to her and takes her hands off her laptop and into his own. 

“I’m okay,” he says. “I already told you. Ollie’s fine, too.” 

She takes a minute to let his words sink in, examining him closely for any sign that he’s lying. When she finds none, she sighs and turns back to her computers. 

“I just think we could stand to watch something lighter tonight,” she says. “Like Supernatural. Or X-Factor.” 

“You hate X-Factor,” Tommy says, pouring her a generous glass of wine. 

“I  _ do _ hate X-Factor,” she agrees. 

Tommy laughs and picks up the remote to turn up the volume on Criminal Minds as it comes back from commercial. Halfway through the episode, Felicity has finished off two glasses of wine and fairly certain she’s already figured out who the TV murder is when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Did you order more food?” Tommy asks, giving her an incredulous look. They still have several unfinished boxes of Chinese food left. 

She shakes her head and Tommy raises his eyebrow at her like he doesn’t believe her. 

“I swear,” she says holding up her pinkie. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a lava cake right now… You know, your dad never checked on you. Maybe he’s here to make sure you’re alright.” 

Tommy laughs at that. “Yeah. Good one. I’m sure that’s it.” 

He opens the door and Felicity squeaks when she sees Oliver on the other side. 

“Hey buddy, I didn't think you were still coming.” 

“Is that okay?” he asks, hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly. It’s a weird look on him. He’s never been awkward around either of them, but then again, none of them have ever gone 5 years without seeing him. 

Felicity looks down at her worn out pajamas. There’s a coffee stain on her tank top and a hole in the knee of her pants. If she’d known Oliver was coming over, she wouldn’t have changed out of her dress, but it would be weird if she went and changed now that he’s already seen her. She runs her hands through her hair through, trying to make sure her curls aren’t took out of control. Damn her for forgetting to put a hair tie on her wrist. 

 “You’re always welcome here,” Tommy says, opening the door wide for him to step inside. “Felicity ordered enough food to feed a small army.” 

“She always does,” Oliver says with a smile in her direction that causes her to blush. 

“So what were you guys doing?” he asks.  

“Well _I’m_ relaxing and watching TV,” Tommy says. “Felicity is trying to play Nancy Drew.”   

Oliver comes into the room and looks at her setup. “What exactly are you Nancy Drew-ing?” 

Felicity looks up from her screen. “I’m trying to find the men that took you. And the man in the green hood.” 

“Isn’t that a job for the police?” Oliver asks, and she can see him tense up. It’s subtle, but she notices. It’s interesting for him to tense up now, since he wasn’t tense at all talking to the police about the ordeal. Maybe everything that happened is finally hitting him now that the adrenaline has worn off. 

“Well I didn’t get the impression that Detective Lance was going to give it his best, did you?” she asks. “Besides, I hate mysteries.”  

“She says as we watch Criminal Minds,” Tommy says. 

“This show isn’t a mystery,” she explains. “I solve most of the episodes within the first fifteen minutes.” 

“I thought you hated this show.” Oliver gives her a weird look. “You said it freaked you out.” 

Felicity shrugs. She doesn’t want to explain that she’d only started watching the show after he went missing. That a part of her thought if she could figure out how the FBI finds people who go missing, she could use those same skills to track Oliver. 

Well, she’s gotten incredibly good at figuring out the bad guy before the BAU does on the show, and she can come up with a mean profile, but she hadn’t been talented enough to find Oliver on Lian Yu. And she still hasn’t found the men that kidnapped her boys today, so she probably shouldn’t apply for the FBI just yet. 

“I decided I liked it,” Felicity says when Oliver won’t stop staring at her. 

“Sit down,” Tommy says, handing Oliver a glass of wine. “Stay awhile.” 

Oliver takes a seat on the couch next to her and reaches over to close her laptop. 

“I was working,” she says, indignant.  

“Well stop,” he says, his voice more commanding than she’s ever heard it.

“You don’t want to know who took you? Or who the man was that saved you?” she asks. 

“I don’t want you looking into things that could get you hurt,” he responds, and there’s something in his eyes that she’s never seen before. A darkness that wasn’t there. 

“It’s not like they are going to kidnap  _ me _ for ransom,” she says. “You’re the billionaires.” 

“Just promise me you’ll let it go,” he says. 

Felicity looks to Tommy for support. 

“He’s probably right,” Tommy says with an apologetic smile. “You should let the police handle it.” 

“Whatever,” she says, though she has zero plans to actually drop it. 

She crosses her arms as she sinks back into the couch to finish watching the episode. Oliver and Tommy chat about the Rockets during the commercial breaks, but Felicity stays silent. She’s never been a big sports fan, and she’s too busy trying to figure out the new mystery before her. Oliver. 

She’s not going to lie. The look in his eyes earlier kind of scares her. She’s never seen him look at her with anything other than kindness and compassion. To think that something happened to him to destroy that makes her nervous. 

At the end of the episode, Tommy takes their dishes and leftovers into the kitchen, leaving Oliver and her alone. 

“Felicity,” Oliver says, reaching out to put his hand on her leg. 

 “Hm?” she says, looking up from where she’d been studiously picking at the hole in her pants. 

“You know that I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, right?” he says. “I wasn’t trying to be an ass.”  

Felicity shifts on the sofa so that she’s facing him head on and takes a deep breath, preparing herself for this conversation.  

“You were gone for five years, and try as I might, I couldn’t do anything about that,” she says. “Then about two years ago, Tommy was kidnapped in Hong Kong, and I couldn’t do anything about  _ that _ . So imagine my terror when I found out that you’d been taken again today. And imagine how terrified I am that you might be taken again. I just need to know that the men that did this to you won’t come back.” 

“They won’t,” Oliver says. “They’re dead. The man in the hood took care of them.” 

There it is again. That phrase. He’s being too nonchalant about the entire thing and that phrase is really bothering her but she can’t put her finger on why.

“And what about whoever hired them?” she asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

Felicity turns back on her computer and shows him what she’d found. “Somebody paid those men to take you. I just can’t figure out who.” 

“Felicity.” Oliver takes the laptop out of her hands and places it on the table behind him out of her reach. “I can appreciate that you want to protect us. But I’m telling you to leave it alone.” 

Felicity scoffs at that and Oliver immediately realizes his mistake.  

“I’m  _ asking _ you to leave it alone.” 

Felicity still glares at him. Asking or not, it’s ridiculous for him to think she’ll let this go when she is more than capable of finding the people responsible for this. Doesn’t he want to know who took him?

“How can you ask me to do that?” 

“Because I watched my father and Sara die on that boat and I thought I was going to have to watch them kill Tommy today… I’m still trying to figure out how my life works now that I’m back. I can’t have something happen to you. I’ve been around enough tragedy for one lifetime. So please, for once in your life, do as I ask and drop this.” 

Felicity doesn’t want to, but she can’t say no to him when he’s looking at her with tears in his eyes. So she relents. 

“Okay,” she says, reaching out to take Oliver’s hand in her own and give him a supportive squeeze. 

She can’t imagine what he’s been through. She knows how traumatized she would be if she had to live on an island all alone for 5 years, but to have also had to watch his father and Sara die? It’s no wonder he’s different. He’s experienced real tragedy and that leaves a mark. His memories will forever be tainted with darkness. 

Felicity gets why Tommy says he doesn’t want to know what happened to Oliver. He’s just let one single detail slip and already she wants to wrap him in a blanket and never let him go.  

“You’ll really stop looking into this?” he asks, not quite believing her. 

“I promise,” she says. 

Oliver smiles at that and pulls on her until she’s falling into his open arms. 

“Good. Can I tell you one thing that I’ve really missed?” he asks. 

“Lava cake? We could order some,” Felicity says innocently and she can hear Tommy snort from the kitchen. 

“Our lazy Sundays on the couch together,” he says with a warm smile. 

She can’t help but smile back at him and cuddle into his side, relishing the feeling of home and safety that she never thought she’d feel again. 

“Yeah,” she hums as he begins to run his fingers through her hair. “But also, lava cake.” 

“Relax, Smoak,” Tommy says, emerging from the kitchen. “I already put in an order for us.” 

“You did?” she asks, getting excited. 

“I figured if I put the order in, you wouldn’t end up buying out the entire bakery,” he says. 

“Well at least that hasn’t changed about you,” Oliver says. “You’ve always had a dangerous sweet tooth.” 

She pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Does it seem like we’ve changed a lot?” she asks. 

“It’s been five years,” Oliver says with a bittersweet smile. “It was bound to happen.” 

Felicity hates the fact that he’s lost so much time. That they all have. It’s not fair. Oliver never deserved that. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’m home, that’s all that matters.” 

He kisses the top of her head before turning back to the TV and asking Tommy what movie they are going to put in. They decide on Inception and settle in to watch. Felicity manages to make it til the lava cakes arrive before the excitement of the day finally hits her and she falls asleep with her head in Oliver’s lap. 

She wakes up sometime later to Oliver tucking her into bed and kissing her on the forehead. 

“I’ll see you later,” he says with a smile. “Sleep well.” 

“Be safe,” she says before falling back asleep. 

She dreams of the Gambit that night. The first time she’s had that dream in over a year. She dreams of a giant storm that has Oliver washing overboard. Only this time, instead of her being frozen on the boat as everyone around her dies, she watches as Oliver cries out for his father and Sara. She watches as he sobs over being unable to save them as they drown and he’s left clinging to a broken piece of the ship as struggles to stay afloat in the storm.  

The look of pure agony on his face has her waking up in a cold sweat. 

The horrors Oliver has to have seen have her crying into her pillow unable to get back to sleep. 

****

“He wants to have his party where?” Felicity asks Tommy the next day as she talks to him over the phone. 

“At the convention center. He’s insisting on it actually.” 

Felicity scoffs at that. “How many people is he inviting?” 

“If he wants to rent out the convention center, I’m thinking the entire city,” Tommy says.  

“Do they even do parties there? It’s not exactly a club,” Felicity says as she hands off the pile of contracts to Christine for delivery. 

“Ye of little faith,” he says, pretending to sound hurt. “Who are you talking to here? After I finish working my magic, it will be the place to be.”  

“Can’t wait,” she says sarcastically. 

It’s not that she doesn’t ever go out. She’s been best friends with Oliver Queen her entire life and Tommy Merlyn’s roommate for the last four years. She’s been to her fair share of parties. Big events like this just aren’t her thing. She prefers smaller venues with private rooms. Otherwise, she finds that people get distracted, lost in the crowd, and she ends up sitting alone at the bar all night fending off handsy strangers. 

“I hope you realize that attendance is not optional at this party,” Tommy says. 

“Despite my better judgement, I will be there,” she says. 

“Do you think I should invite Laurel?” he asks, sounding nervous. 

Felicity wants so badly to say no. That Laurel shouldn’t be anywhere near that party. But it’s clear from Oliver’s visit with her yesterday that he intends to keep Laurel in his life. As much as that idea makes her want to vomit, she knows it must be worse for Tommy. 

“Are you going to tell him about you two?” she asks. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” he says. “We aren’t dating.” 

Felicity rolls her eyes as she sits back down at her desk and pulls up her emails, trying to figure out how much more work she has before she can head home for the day. 

“Is that so?”  

“We’ve hooked up a few times,” Tommy says. 

“Right,” she agrees, knowing that it’s total bullshit. They’ve done more than just hook up. Tommy doesn’t make breakfast for any of the other girls he brings home. He likes her. 

“It would only upset him,” he says, and she can hear in his voice how hard this is for him. “Besides, it’s not going to happen again.” 

“I think I’ve heard that before,” she says, responding to several emails before exiting out of the program and signing off. She’s done enough work for the day. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. 

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” 

“It’s not my secret to tell,” she reminds him, packing up her purse. 

“Good... He wouldn’t understand why it happened.” 

“Why did it happen?” she asks. She’s never gotten a straight answer from him about it. It’s something she’s always wondered. 

“I was lonely, I missed my friend, and she was there. She gave me something to lose myself in that wasn’t drugs.” 

“Oh Tommy…”  

Felicity doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s watched him struggle for the last several years to get clean and sober and it’s only been in the last year that he’s been able to stay clean. She hadn’t realized that he attributed that change to Laurel. Maybe Tommy and Laurel are a lot more serious than she’d previously thought. 

And maybe Laurel is better for Tommy than she ever was for Oliver. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, trying to write it off like his confession wasn’t a big deal. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore.” 

“She always says that,” she tries to reassure him. He sounds genuinely upset. She wonders if this is a recent revelation and if it is, how she’d missed it. 

“She means it this time. With Oliver back, it’s bringing back old wounds for her and she told me she doesn’t want to see me anymore,” he says, and if she didn’t know any better she would say he was about to cry. 

“That’s going to be difficult considering you all share the same friends,” she points out. When he doesn’t respond, she decides to try a softer approach. “Tommy, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You guys have too many years between you to leave things this way. If she’s really that special to you, then have faith. She’ll come around.” 

“She’s Oliver’s ex-girlfriend,” Tommy says. “Even if that is true, we can’t continue this.”  

Felicity sighs. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that. She could bring up the fact that Oliver and Laurel weren’t good together. That when Laurel asked him to move in with her, Oliver literally ran away with her sister. But they both know how little that means. Oliver and Laurel are like magnets. No matter what happens, somehow they always gravitate back to each other. 

“I’ll pick you up something stronger than wine on my way home,” she promises.  

“Tequila please,” he says. “And not that crappy kind you usually get. The good stuff.” 

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m taking it out of my rent this month.” 

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive,” he says. 

They say their goodbyes and she heads out the door. She walks down the street to the high end liquor store to pick up Tommy’s tequila. She then hits up her favorite mini mart to stock up on some red vines and chocolate. And that’s when she sees the news report.  

Adam Hunt, the CEO of Hunt Multinational and overall douchebag, was attacked. Several of his bodyguards are in the hospital after being shot with arrows. 

“Can you believe that?” Marty, the owner of the mini mart, says as he checks her out. “Arrows. Looks like this city has a Robin Hood on its hands.”  

Felicity laughs with him. “I don’t know why. Archery looks utterly ridiculous to me.”  

“Yeah,” the man says as he bags her items. “Either way, I’d say that man did the city a public service. Adam Hunt is a thief.” 

“I’m sure he’s much more than a thief,” she responds. “Not that anyone can pin anything on him. Have a good night.” 

“You, too. Be safe out there,” he says. 

“I’ll do my best to avoid Robin Hood,” she says, waving as she steps out of the mini mart and makes her way back to the parking garage to get her car.  

Robin Hood. 

Felicity stops in her tracks as she puts the pieces together. 

The same man that rescued Tommy and Oliver yesterday just attacked Adam Hunt. 

Marty might be right. Starling City has it’s own vigilante. 

****

Felicity looks out the window as she helps Tommy setup for the party that afternoon and the logo of Hunt Multinational catches her eye. She’s not on this side of town often, so she didn’t realize how close the convention center is to Hunt’s building. She isn’t sure why it matters, but it feels important. 

“What are we looking at?” Tommy asks coming to stand beside her. 

“Did you know Adam Hunt was attacked last night by the man in the green hood?” 

“The hood guy?” he asks, giving her a peculiar look. “Where did you hear that?” 

“It was on the news last night… And I might have checked out some more information on the SCPD’s website,” she admits.  

“You know one of these days, you’re going to end up getting caught and thrown in jail,” he says. “And we’ve been through this, there are better ways to try out your handcuff fetish.” 

“Your lack of confidence in my abilities hurts,” she says. “If I’m going to get caught, it won’t be by the SCPD who barely understand how to work a firewall.” 

“I don’t even know what a firewall is,” he says. “Now come help me get this staff in line. We’ve got 6 hours to turn this into the most epic party that’s ever been seen.”  

Felicity nods her head and gets back to work, putting all thoughts of Adam Hunt and The Hood out of her mind for now so she can focus on making this party everything Oliver wants it to be. 

****

Felicity stands in front of her closet in her underwear cursing her life. She’d bought a gold dress specifically for this event, but now that she’d put it on, she hates it. It’s not good enough. She looks like she’s trying too hard and it’s not flattering. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have had Tommy order the lava cake this week. 

She stares at herself in the mirror and frowns at the extra fat around her waist that she’s never been able to get rid of. Well… that’s a lie. She probably  _ could _ get rid of it, but she’s addicted to food and allergic to exercise. Normally, she doesn’t spend a lot of time obsessing over her body. However, with Oliver back, she’s been taking note of every single change her body has gone through in the last 5 years and she’s feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

Laurel doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her. She’s tall, skinny, and has curves exactly where the boys want them. Laurel doesn’t have thick thighs or a soft tummy. Felicity doesn’t know how to compete with that. 

It’s actually laughable to even call it a competition. 

“Maybe I should go with pants,” she says. 

She pulls at the extra skin on her arms. 

“And a parka.” 

Not that it matters, she laughs at herself for turning into such a stereotypical girl. Oliver won’t be looking her direction when there will be hundreds of women throwing themselves at him.  

She’s better than this, she reminds herself. She’s Felicity Smoak, MIT class of 2009. She’s smart, successful, and funny — unintentionally so, but the fact still stands. 

She turns back to her closet and pulls out a dress, determined not to let herself fall into the trap where she’s dressing to impress a boy. She pulls the purple dress on and looks in the mirror and instantly groans. She looks like Violet Beauregarde. She strips the dress off and debates telling Tommy that she can’t make it. She’s got several episodes of Sons of Anarchy to catch up on anyways… 

There’s a knock on her door. “Are you almost ready?” Tommy asks through the door. 

She looks down at herself and laughs. Hardly. 

“I’ll meet you there,” she calls after him, knowing that canceling isn’t an option. 

“Nope, not today, Smoak,” he says. He walks into her room without waiting for permission. 

“Tommy!” she yells, her hands instantly moving to cover her body, but there’s only so much she can do.

He ignores her, like always and begins digging in the back of her closet. He’s never had any sense of boundaries. And really, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before anyways. There had been plenty of bad days that first year that Oliver left where she could barely get herself dressed and Tommy was always there to help her into her pajamas at night and stay with her while she cried herself to sleep. 

Even now, he comes into her room often enough to try and force her along. He has no patience for the female process. 

“Can I help you with something?” she asks, finally dropping her hands when she realizes that he hasn’t looked her direction even once. 

“Wear this,” he says, pulling a little black dress out from the back of her closet. She hasn’t seen the dress in almost two years. Not since she’d worn it for Tommy’s birthday party. He’d convinced her to buy it, but she’d felt self conscious in it so she’d never worn it again after that night.

“What are you—” 

“You’re welcome,” he interrupts her with a smile. “Now put it on and let’s go. There’s fashionably late, and then there’s just obnoxiously late. We at least need to be there before Oliver.” 

“Fine,” she relents. She knows that Tommy would never steer her wrong. He’s always incredibly honest about her fashion choices. He’s the reason that she’s switched from button ups and pencil skirts to designer dresses. 

‘If you want people to take you seriously, you need to stop dressing like a high schooler trying to play business woman,’ he’d told her. And as much as she hates to admit it, he’d been right. After she’d changed her style, her co-workers started taking her more seriously and the promotions started coming.  

Anything Tommy picks out for her will achieve the goal she’s been searching for: She wants Oliver to see that she’s not the confused girl he left five years ago. The last time he saw her she was a complete wreck. She could barely function and she needs him to know that’s not her anymore. She’s grown up. She’s about the become the head of R&D. She’s changed. She knows who she is now. And she wants him to see that. It feels important.

“You can leave now,” she says when he makes no move to go wait outside. 

“No,” he says. “I know how girls work. If I give you the space, you’ll spend the next thirty minutes trying on five more dresses. We don’t have time for it today.” 

“You should probably work on your manners if you ever want a serious girlfriend,” Felicity says as she steps into her dress. 

“Well lucky for us the only girl I would have considered a relationship with doesn’t want me,” he jokes, but she can tell he doesn’t find it funny. “Loose the bra.” 

“Excuse me?” she says. She’s never quite gotten used to how straightforward he is. 

“You can’t wear a bra in that dress,” he says matter of factly. “Lose the bra then I’ll zip you up.” 

“I swear to god you only doing this so you can cop a feel,” she glares at him, but takes her bra off under the dress. 

“You’ve found me out,” he deadpans. “Now I’ll have to come up with a new ruse.” 

She turns around so her back is to him and he zips her up. When she turns back around, he whistles in appreciation. 

“Much better,” Tommy says. “Ollie won’t know what hit him.” 

“I’m not dressing up for Oliver,” she lies, not sure why she even bothers. Tommy will always see right through her. 

“Sure you’re not,” he says. “You were just standing here refusing to get dressed because you’re trying to impress Mr. Hampton downstairs.” 

Mr. Hampton is the doorman of their building. Tommy always jokes about him because he’s completely smitten with Felicity. Probably because she’s always willing to bring him a coffee and listen to his long winded stories about the war. He’s also 84 years old. 

“Well Oliver is going to be busy making heart eyes at Laurel so it really doesn’t matter,” she reminds him, stepping into her heels before grabbing her purse and following him out the door. 

“If he’s too stupid to take you home tonight, I sure will,” Tommy teases. “Because that dress deserves to get laid.” 

“Just the dress?” she laughs. 

“I guess the girl in the dress is alright,” he says with a wink. 

****

Felicity is at the bar making best friends with the bartender so that he’ll keep her drink full the entire night without having to fight her way through the crowd. She’s also purposefully taking a break from Tommy who is in full playboy mode and has surrounded himself with several women, all of whom look more than willing to take him to a private corner and have their way with him. She sincerely hopes that she doesn’t have to listen to his stories of an orgy tomorrow morning. Tommy can get a little over the top when he’s trying to mask his pain, and Laurel calling it off with him has hit him harder than she expected it to. 

The music cuts out and she turns to see what’s going on. Tommy is at the stairs with Oliver as everyone cheers. 

“Well those two are in full force,” she says to herself as she throws back the rest of her drink. If they are both going to be full on frat boys tonight, she’s going to need a lot more wine. She barely did the college thing when she was  _ in  _ college. She enjoys partying with her friends most nights, but dealing with Tommy and Oliver when they are like this is never fun. They feed off one another and it’s like they constantly try to out douche each other. It’s hardly their most attractive look. 

Queen starts to play and she rolls her eyes and laughs to herself. At least some things never change. She turns back to the bar when she notices Oliver getting surrounded by girls in skin tight dresses. There are some things she’s happier not to witness. 

A shot is put in front of her by the bartender with a wink. “Smile. Only two more hours before it’s socially appropriate to call it a night.” 

Felicity snorts. “Clearly you’ve never met my roommate. He won’t let me leave anytime before closing.” 

“You can always tell him you met a cute boy and you’re going back to his place. I’d fill that role if he needs proof,” he says with a wink. 

“Smooth,” she says. “Keep that expensive wine coming and maybe we can talk.” 

She has no intention of going home with him tonight, but she’s learned a few useful skills from Tommy over the years. One of which is how to easily get out of awkward situations without making anyone upset. He felt it was a valuable skill for her to learn after he ended up with a black eye fighting for her honor at a club one night. 

A hand at her back has her ready to slap somebody when a familiar voice says into her ear, “Who let you out of the house in this?” 

She smiles. She’s not sure she’ll ever stop feeling relieved to hear Oliver’s voice. The pain of losing him is something that she’s never going to forget. 

“You can blame your other best friend for this,” she says, turning around to face him. “I originally planned for something with far less cutouts.” 

She waits for him to complain about it like he always used to. He hates it when she wears anything tight or revealing. He always gets over protective and shifts into big brother mode. And lord knows he can’t enjoy himself is he’s too busy making sure that the boys keep their hands to themselves. She likes to lie to herself and say it’s because he’s jealous, but she refuses to get her hopes up tonight. Not when she’s already spotted Laurel. Even if Oliver hasn’t seen her yet, she knows it’s just a matter of time. 

“I’ll be sure to write him a nice thank you card,” Oliver says, shifting his hand so it’s against her bare back. She instantly feels warm all over and starts to blush at the way he’s looking down at her. She thinks that he’s pulling her close to kiss her, but she soon finds out that he’s just pulling her out of the way of a girl trying to get to the bar. 

Of course. 

“Seeing you in black brings back memories,” he says. 

Felicity rolls her eyes and she pictures her goth days. It’s not something she’s overly proud of, looking back. She was trying too hard to rebel and it wasn’t really her. Not the her she wants to be. The woman she is now? It feels more natural. 

“Can we not talk about my horrible fashion choices?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I thought you were beautiful back then. Of course, you’re even more gorgeous now, but that’s not surprising.” 

Felicity blushes at the compliment. Oliver’s always been kind to her and overflowing with nice things to say, but he’s never been quite so complimentary before. 

“Thanks,” she says. “Puberty had to come sooner or later.” 

“Well you grew up nice,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

“It’s an open bar,” she points out, amused. 

“Well in that case, can Tommy buy us both a drink?” he asks with a smile. 

When he’s staring down at her like he is now, it’s easy to forget that they are in the middle of a crowded party. It’s easy to tune out the loud music and hustle and bustle that surrounds them. The world becomes just the two of them and it’s easy to pretend that this is the way things could always be. It’s easy to convince herself that maybe he had gotten her message. That maybe he does know she loves him and he still loves her back. 

Maybe they hadn’t missed their moment.  

Oliver looks over her shoulder and suddenly frowns. “Back in a minute.” 

Without waiting for a reply from her, he walks away. She follows him with her eyes until she sees him pulling Thea by the arm. She doesn’t have to hear their conversation to know what it’s about. Thea has been sneaking into clubs and parties for a few years now. Everyone is well aware of her drug problem, but nobody has been able to get her to stop. Felicity had hoped that Oliver coming back would mean Thea could finally get clean, but if her showing up tonight is any indication, that won’t be happening. 

“I explicitly told her she wasn’t invited,” Tommy says, stepping up next to her. 

“Which probably just made coming that much more tempting,” she says, giving him a knowing look. 

“So what were you and Ollie talking about?” he asks, raising his hand to signal that they’d like another round. 

“Nothing really,” she says, ignoring the look Tommy gives her. 

“He has been watching you from the moment he stepped into the building,” he says, knocking shoulders with her. “Please promise me you’ll tell him how you feel so we won’t have to do this dance for 9 more seasons. This slow burn has gone on long enough.” 

“Slow burn?” 

“It’s a term Thea taught me. It means—” 

“I know what it means,” she cuts him off. 

“Tell him,” Tommy says. “Trust me when I say, he’ll be open to it.” 

He’s probably right. If the way he was talking to her tonight is any indication, he’s not acting like he’s over her. She waited to tell him she loved him before and it ended up being her biggest regret. She shouldn’t wait any longer. If she’s learned anything in her life, it’s that time isn’t limitless. 

She nods and turns to see if he’s still talking to Thea and her stomach drops to her toes. He’s talking with Laurel. She bites her lip as she watches Oliver lead Laurel out of the room. 

“You were saying?” Felicity says and she watches as Tommy downs both his and her drinks.  

“She can have him,” he says before walking away and into a group of women with his fake smile. “Ladies!” 

“Still looking for an excuse to get out of here?” the bartender asks her as he places another drink in front of her. 

Felicity looks to where Oliver has just left with Laurel and she’s tempted to do what Tommy’s doing. To accept the cute bartenders offer and go have meaningless sex. Go try and erase the image of Oliver from her fantasies and see if it can cover up the horrible twisting feeling in her stomach. But then she looks towards Tommy and she knows she can’t leave. Somebody needs to make sure that he sticks to his sobriety and doesn’t take anything tonight. He’s worked too hard to lose it now. 

“Like I said, I’m here until closing,” she says. 

****

Felicity grabs Tommy’s arm as he heads towards a back corner of the party where she knows people have been going to do lines of coke. 

“What’s up?” he says. “I was just going to hit the head.” 

“Walk with me,” she says, pulling on his arm. “The line to the girl’s room is super long but I hear there’s another bathroom in Hall H that’s open.” 

“I know what you’re doing; you’re not that sneaky,” he says as she leads him through the crowd of people. 

“And what am I doing?” she asks innocently enough. 

“You’re babysitting me,” he says. “I’m not going to fall off the wagon. I just needed the bathroom.” 

“Great!” she says with a wide smile. “So you won’t mind walking me to Hall H. After all, I shouldn’t be wandering these halls by myself, right?” 

“Curious how you only play the damsel in distress card when it’s convenient for you,” he says as they make it out the door and into the much quieter hallway. 

“Well I only play it because you have a white knight complex,” she says. 

“Nope, that would be Oliver,” Tommy argues. “I’m much more of a dark knight.” 

“If you say so, Batman,” she says as they walk hand in hand towards the other end of the convention center. She tries very hard to keep her eyes forward as she knows exactly what kind of things go on in dark corners and hidden alleys at the parties that Tommy throws. 

“I can’t believe she left with him so quickly,” Tommy says. “You know he’s not back yet, right? That means they’re fucking. They always left parties to go fuck. I wouldn’t be surprised if we caught them somewhere out here.” 

Felicity stops walking immediately. The very last thing she wants to walk into is Oliver and Laurel going at it. 

“Thank you for that,” she grumbles. 

“I don’t get it,” Tommy says, pulling on her until she starts walking again. “He was staring at your ass all night. Then Laurel shows up and bam? I don’t understand. I mean, that dress makes your ass look fantastic.” 

Felicity is impressed. Her word vomit is clearly rubbing off on Tommy. That and he’s three sheets to the wind. She needs to get some coffee in him and help him sober up or he’s bound to do something stupid and end up getting arrested. Again. 

“He should have never looked at her twice,” Tommy grumbles. 

His words sink in and her jaw drops as she realizes what he’s saying. 

“Tommy Merlyn, did you get me to wear this dress so that Laurel and Oliver wouldn’t hook up?” she asks, feeling dirty all of a sudden. What did he think she was? Some sex toy to wave in Oliver’s face as a distraction? That’s not like Tommy. 

“Well it failed,” he says. “So now we’re both miserable.” 

“Tommy,” she says seriously, pulling on his arm to get him to stop walking and look at her so he can see she’s not amused. 

“I was trying to help you both out. I know how much you love him and I’m telling you that he wants you, too. I didn’t make that up, it’s true. If pushing the two of you together also happened to help me, then great.” 

Felicity doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s angry, but she’s not sure if it’s more that Tommy tried to get Oliver and her together or the fact that it didn’t work. 

She’s not this kind of girl. She doesn’t cry over whether boys like her or not. She’s smarter than that. And yet, here she is feeling like she wants to curl up in a ball and eat several pints of mint chocolate chip until it doesn’t feel like the world is caving in. 

For five years, she’s built up what happened before Oliver died. She’s listened to those two messages he sent her repeatedly. She took his words to heart. Really let the idea that he’d been in love with her since they were kids sink in. And that belief has been at the center of every single decision. It’s why she spent so much time with Tommy. Why she moved to Starling after graduation. Why she accepted the job at Merlyn Global instead of Queen Consolidated despite them offering her a better position. 

She’d built it all up in her head. She’d been trying to play it cool this last week, thinking that Oliver would just need some time to adjust but they would eventually get around to talking about his last message. But… it wasn’t real. None of it. She’d built it all up. 

And Tommy had let her. 

God. She knows he was Oliver’s friend first, but she thought that they were close. She thought he would have the decency to not feed into this delusion that Oliver and her would ever make it work. 

She’d been wrong. 

“I want to go home,” she says, holding her hand out for his car keys. 

“‘Lis…” 

She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to hear it. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he says. “You should go enjoy the party. There are plenty of guys here who would be more than willing to help you forget for a night.” 

One night stands have never been her thing. She’s never seen the appeal of them. Even if they could help her forget about Oliver for the night, she’d just wake up to realize that all that rejection was still there and she’d feel nothing but dirty. No thanks. She feels dirty enough as it is. 

She’d gotten dressed up for him. What a joke. 

“I just want to leave,” she says. He looks like he’s about to protest again so she holds up her hand to stop him. “I feel ridiculous. I’m standing in this dress, half naked, upset over a boy. I’m not that girl and the fact that I let myself become that girl makes me feel dirty. I want to go home, shower, eat ice cream in bed, and fall asleep to Doctor Who.” 

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he hands over his keys. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

She leans in to give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek. “Please don’t do anything stupid tonight.” 

Tommy laughs, but it sounds hollow. “I make no promises.” 

“Fine. Then promise me no drugs and nothing that will get you longer than a night in jail,” she says. 

He smiles and gives her a wink. “Drive safe, Smoak.” 

She waves goodbye and heads for the exit, eager to get home so that she can take these shoes off. They are cute, but she’s not entirely sure they were worth the pain. The second the cool night air hits her, she regrets not bringing a jacket. Any alcohol that was in her system keeping her warm wore off a little over an hour ago and now she’s just cold. 

She’s walking towards the parking garage when she notices several police cars on the street, including a SWAT team. 

“What the hell?” she says to herself. She looks around, trying to figure out what is going on. 

It’s not that she would have been surprised to see a few cop cars outside of the party. After all, it wouldn’t be an Oliver Queen/Tommy Merlyn event if the cops didn’t make an appearance. With the amount of drugs flying around freely and the sheer volume, the cops would have been well within their rights to pay them a visit. But SWAT? 

She realizes that they are all rushing into Hunt Multinational and she breathes a sigh of relief. She’s really too tired to bail Tommy out of jail tonight. 

She’s about to continue walking to the car when she hears gunfire. She looks up, trying to see where it’s coming from, nervous about getting caught up in the crossfire. She tries to figure out if she’s better off going back inside or rushing to the car. 

She hears the sound of glass breaking and watches in shock as a man dressed in green literally ziplines from one of the top floors of Hunt Multinational to the rooftop of the convention center. She can’t see his face. With how far away he is, she can’t make out much of anything, except that whoever he is clearly has a Robin Hood fetish. And the way he easily went between buildings, holding himself up with only one arm like he is some kind of Tarzan is impressive. His arms must be massive. Maybe he really is Tarzan. Raised by monkeys or something. A jungle baby that somehow found his way to Starling City—

“Oh my god,” she whispers as it all hits her at once. 

It's Oliver.  _ Her  _ Oliver. 

Tommy had thought it was weird that Oliver was so insistent that the party be here, despite the fact that they’d never done an event here before and there were far more places with sentimental value he could have chosen. The convention center that just happens to be next to Hunt’s building. Who conveniently was attacked by the Hood yesterday and again just now. 

The mysterious hood saved Oliver and Tommy from their kidnappers, but Tommy never saw him. It was Oliver that gave the description of the man in green to the police. He'd been the only one to see him. 

The Hood who just happens to show up at the same time Oliver returned from the island. 

The deserted island where he somehow taught himself Russian. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers again, not knowing what to do. 

The longer she thinks about it the more positive she is that she's right. Oliver’s the vigilante. 

What do you do when you find out that your best friend is some arrow loving Robin Hood? 

What do you do when you find out the boy you’ve known since first grade, the one who didn’t have an angry bone in his body, suddenly comes back from 5 years away and decides to become a vigilante? She’s watched enough Criminal Minds. She can do a profile. Nobody decides to forgo the aid of law enforcement and fight crime themselves if there isn’t a lot of built up rage inside of them. 

What the  _ hell  _ happened to Oliver on that island? 

****

Felicity lays in bed that night for hours, unable to shut her mind off. She can’t reconcile the Oliver that she used to know with the Oliver who ziplines between buildings to escape a literal SWAT team. But there is no doubt in her mind, the longer she thinks about it, that Oliver is the vigilante. 

Felicity has had the Moscow Rules memorized since she was 7. 

Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern. Or an enemy action, depending on who you ask, but the theory still stands. 

Once meant nothing. The fact that Oliver has been so tight lipped about what happened to him on the island isn’t a surprise. He’s never been the guy to share his feelings with many people. She’s always been an exception, but he was gone for 5 years. That kind of isolation breeds introversion and distrust. 

Twice was odd but nothing to look too closely at. The Hood rescued Oliver and Tommy from the warehouse where they were being held. Only Oliver described the Hood. Tommy hadn’t seen him, but then again, he’d been drugged. Oliver had been drugged as well, however due his size, the drugs probably didn’t have as drastic an effect on Oliver as they did Tommy. Either way, it makes sense that a vigilante would rescue two men from kidnappers. The fact that the vigilante showed up the same time that Oliver returned was nothing more than a coincidence. After all, nobody that knew Oliver before would ever mistake him for Robin Hood. 

The third time, she’d been stupid not to make the connection. Oliver was insistent about the party being at the convention center. The convention center that just happened to be next to Hunt Multinational, where the Hood had broken into tonight.  

God. Felicity still can’t wrap her mind around it. 

Men died. 

Oliver murdered them. 

It just doesn’t make any sense.  

The Oliver she knew was far from perfect. He drank too much resulting in a fair share of DUIs, stole a taxi, urinated on a police officer, assaulted a paparazzi, and in general made incredibly reckless decisions. However, Oliver hadn’t been a violent guy. He’d been acquitted of the assault charges because Oliver’s lawyer had been able to prove that the paparazzi in question had been stalking Oliver for a few weeks and had been harassing the girl he was with that night. 

It was rare for Oliver to ever resort to violence. For the most part, his recklessness involved doing something for a laugh. He never set out to hurt anybody. 

So it’s hard for her to comprehend the fact that 5 years away has turned her best friend into a murderer. She didn’t even know that Oliver knew how to fight. He’d always been a gym rat. He was a jock in high school and kept up his workouts after he graduated because he wanted to impress women. But there’s a big difference between lifting weights and becoming a bow wielding ninja. 

Felicity hacked into SCPD’s servers as soon as she got home tonight to find out everything she could on the vigilante. The things that witnesses are saying Oliver can do aren’t skills you learn while deserted on an island. They just aren’t. 

The archery she’ll buy. He needed to eat and that meant hunting. So somehow he built himself a bow. It isn’t something she would have thought him capable of, but desperation tends to make the impossible possible and Oliver’s always been smarter than he lets on. 

So cool. He became an expert archer by hunting wild animals. That doesn’t explain his fighting skills. It’s not like he was going to be playing fisticuffs with a boar. He probably didn’t encounter a mutant rat that trained him in the ways of ninjutsu. She doubts he was bitten by some radioactive insect that gifted him suddenly with superpowers.

Just because Felicity reads a lot of comic books doesn’t mean she actually thinks it’s possible that the accident triggered Oliver’s X-gene. Superpowers aren’t real. This isn’t Oliver’s origin story. 

Felicity sits up in bed and throws the covers off of her violently. She’s not going to be able to sleep tonight until she can make these puzzle pieces fit together in a picture that doesn’t sound absolutely insane. 

She grabs her laptop off of the nightstand and begins hacking into his hospital records. She’s hacked into everything she can think of to get information on the Hood, but maybe what she should be doing is looking into Oliver directly. 

She quickly accesses his file at Starling General. It talks of fractures that never healed properly. They estimate 20% of his body is covered in scar tissue. There are old burns, cuts, and bite marks on him. It’s not overly surprising. Living on an island without any shelter from the elements or proper equipment can’t be easy. Injuries are bound to happen often. But somehow, she doubts it’s as simple as that. 

Oliver had been rescued by fishermen who brought Oliver back to China. He’d been there for a week before he came back to Starling, and in that time he’d been held under quarantine. She hacks into his file at the hospital there. It’s all in Chinese so she can’t read it, but there are pictures attached. 

She opens the file and gasps at the sight. 

It’s one thing to hear that Oliver’s body is littered with scars, it’s another thing entirely to see them. 

“What happened to you?” she whispers, holding back tears as she reaches out to stroke Oliver’s photo on the screen. As if that’s somehow going to do anything to comfort him. 

Her guilt for not getting on the Gambit with him intensifies as she stares at the evidence of his trauma. She should have prevented this. She should have made sure that none of this happened to him. He’s always protected her and the one time she could have returned the favor she failed him. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, continuing to trace over his scars on the screen, wishing that she could somehow erase their existence. 

It’s four in the morning, so her brain isn’t firing at full capacity. Which is the only explanation for why it takes her so long to realize that something more than scars is seriously wrong with his body. 

“When did you get a tattoo?” she asks, zooming in on the images to get a closer look at the 3 tattoos on his body. 

The one on his back looks like a dragon and it’s obvious that it wasn’t done by a professional. The lines are blurred and there is scar tissue from where the needle had been pressed into his skin in various places too hard. 

There are Chinese characters on his side. She spends the next thirty minutes trying to figure out their meaning. Individually the characters read mouse, ginger, Yao, and pig. It doesn’t make any sense. 

However, it’s the star on his chest that pulls her attention the most. It’s a star, but it’s not a symbol obviously recognizable. It’s not the Star of David nor is it the typical 5-point star. It’s got 8-points to it. She watched a documentary recently about the prison systems in which they described how prisoners used their tattoos to symbolize various crimes they’d committed, sentences they’d served, or ranks they hold. She doesn’t know why Oliver would have a prison tattoo, but she has a feeling and she’s learned to trust her gut. 

Felicity starts out cross referencing Oliver’s tattoo against the catalog of tattoos the SCPD has on file and comes up empty. On one hand, she’s relieved. She doesn’t  _ want _ Oliver to have a prison or gang tattoo. That would only raise a million more questions. However, does want to know what the tattoo means or how he’d gotten tattoos on the island. 

She knows for certain that he was tattoo free when he left. She’d mentioned to him that she wanted to get a tattoo to remember Cooper by and he’d talked her out of it. He didn’t like tattoos. Obviously something changed his mind if he has 3 now. 

She widens her search to the national level. Hacking the FBI is a little more difficult than the SCPD, but it’s not beyond her capabilities. She just needs to be more careful about covering her tracks because she doesn’t need the FBI finding her like they had Cooper. 

She cross references thousands of images before she finally finds a match. 

“This can’t be right,” she says to herself, before double and triple checking the image. 

Oliver’s tattoo has the most unlikely meaning. It’s a symbol of the Russian Mafia. It means he’s a captain. Which solves one mystery. If Oliver is a member of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, it explains how he knows Russian. It also possibly explains why he murdered Adam Hunt’s men. She wouldn’t be surprised if Adam Hunt ended up mixed up in mafia business. 

But how? And why?

Is  _ this _ why the Gambit went down? Were the Queens members of the mafia and Robert got Oliver involved when they went out together? She can’t believe… she  _ won’t _ believe that Oliver was involved prior to the Gambit. He would have told her. They told each other everything. 

But what if he didn’t? 

Is it even possible that he’d kept this a secret from her all these years? 

She doesn’t think so. Hadn’t everyone at that dinner table been just as surprised as she was that Oliver knew Russian? 

So what the hell? How does a man get shipwrecked in the middle of the North China Sea and come back a member of the Bratva? A  _ captain _ of the Bratva? 

For every question she answers, five more pop up in their place. 

This is one rabbit hole she’s not sure that she wants to go down anymore. Every secret she uncovers just makes her more and more terrified. 

She doesn’t know who came back from that island, but it sure as hell wasn’t the Oliver Queen she grew up with. 

****

For the rest of the weekend, Felicity shuts herself in her room and ignores the outside world, stopping only long enough to allow Tommy to bring her food at mealtimes. He asks her numerous times if she’s okay. He thinks she’s upset because of Oliver and Laurel. He has no idea and Felicity doesn’t know how to tell him. 

Her entire world has been shaken to the core with the knowledge that Oliver is a captain in the Bratva as well as the Hood. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to tell Tommy any of this. He’s so excited to have his best friend back that she doesn’t have the heart to tell him the man that’s walking around claiming to be Oliver Queen isn’t  _ their _ Oliver. 

So she locks herself in her bedroom and researches. She hacks into every known database and even several unknown databases looking for information on the Bratva. What she finds out is horrifying. Felicity lived in Vegas, so she’s not naive about organized crime. In fact, the casino her mother still works at is owned by the mob. However, what she’s seeing is beyond the expected drug and money laundering. They specialize in human trafficking. She’s connected them to an auction site on the darknet. There are women from all over the world, many of which are young, barely teenagers. A recent raid in Russia intercepted a cargo ship headed stateside full of women who had been tortured and shoved in tiny boxes, many of the women suffocated to death because there hadn't been enough breathing holes.  

She’s horrified. It’s one thing to know that these organizations exist out there in the world. It’s another thing entirely to know that a man she’s known nearly her entire life is a leader within this organization. 

Felicity continues to dig. She wants to uncover everything. She needs answers. She needs to understand how this came to be. She needs to understand why. 

As she continues to research, she comes across a picture of the Hood in Russia. She looks into the metadata on the photo and figures out that it was taken less than a year ago in Krasnoyarsk. 

“So much for being marooned on an island,” she says. “What else have you lied about?” 

Felicity looks into Lian Yu, the name of the island that Oliver was found on. She tries to learn everything she can about it to see if she can figure out if Oliver was ever really on that island. From what she can tell, the Chinese government used it as a prison of sorts. They banished prisoners to the island up until 1999 when they abandoned the island — and she assumes everyone currently residing there. After that, she can’t find any information on Lian Yu anywhere else. 

If Oliver ever  _ was _ on that island, it’s possible that he wasn’t alone. The island could have still held Chinese prisoners. Which could explain where he’d learned to fight, but it doesn’t explain the Bratva. 

By Monday morning, Felicity has gotten barely any sleep and has way more questions than she has answers. She’s on her way to work, downing her fourth cup of coffee, trying to figure out how she’s going to make it through the day, when she realizes that it’s pointless to even try. There is no way she’s going to be able to focus on budget meetings and quarterly evaluations when her mind is still on Oliver and his life of crime. 

She hasn’t spoken to him since Friday, though Tommy did go out to dinner with him the night before and extended the invitation. Felicity hadn’t wanted to see him. She’s terrified of it, actually, but she has questions and after days of research she’s come to the unfortunate conclusion that there’s only one way she’s going to get her answers. 

She needs to go directly to the source. 

Felicity flips a U-Turn at the next light and heads out to Queen Manor. 

When she arrives at the mansion, Raisa lets her in. Seeing her makes her wonder if the Bratva really is a family business. She’s been with the Queens for as long as Felicity has known Oliver and she’s from Russia. It’s possible that she was brought here illegally as part of their human trafficking business. She read online that they didn’t only kidnap people for the sex trade. She doesn’t think that Raisa acts like a woman being held against her will, but then again what does she really know? 

“Hey,” Oliver says, walking into the room wearing a surprised smile. “I didn’t know you were coming over.” 

Felicity watches him carefully, looking for any sign of his true identity as both a Bratva captain and the Hood, but all she can see is the boy she used to know. She can’t get her mind to reconcile the fact that the man standing before her is the same one that tortured a man last night.His smile is the same one he’s always given her. The hug he pulls her into feels just as safe as it always has. Even his cologne is the same one he’s worn since college. Nothing about him screams danger, but that’s what makes him so threatening. If the face he’s wearing now is an act, how long has he been pretending with her? 

“Felicity,” Oliver says, squeezing her arm to get her attention. 

“What?” she asks, realizing that he must have been talking to her and she’d missed it. 

“I asked what you’re doing here?” 

Felicity takes a deep breath to settle her nerves and nods her head as she tells herself that she can do this. She can confront a mob boss. 

Or is it the mafia? She doesn’t understand the difference. She thought that the mafia was only for groups from Sicily and the mob was a generic term for all organized crime, but her research last night referred to the Bratva as the Russian Mafia. So who knows. 

What she does know is that she is brave enough to confront a captain of the Bratva. This is something that she can do. After all, it’s not like Oliver will actually kill her, right? Sure, movies always used that ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you line,’ but that’s fiction. Oliver is her friend. Surely he wouldn’t actually hurt her. Right? 

Images of the news last night flash through her head. Nick Major had looked pretty beat up in the video of him leaving the hospital after being confronted by the Hood, and Nick had been a friend of the family as well. 

“Felicity?” 

“We need to talk,” she says, sounding much braver than she feels. 

She grabs his arm and pulls him up the stairs and storms towards his room. She’s not sure how much of Oliver’s secret the Queens are in on or not, but either way she wants this to be a private conversation. If the Bratva is the family business, she thinks Oliver may be more inclined to tell her the truth if there aren’t listening ears all around. 

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asks the second she closes the door behind him. 

Felicity pushes on his incredibly muscular chest — not that she’s taking the time to notice right now because that would be inappropriate – until he sits down on the sofa. He moves aside to make room for him, but she decides to stand in front of him and crosses her arms to appear more imposing. 

“You’re going to tell me everything,” she demands. 

“Um… What?” he says looking adorably confused, but she knows it has to be an act.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” she says again and he shakes his head and opens his mouth to make up what she’s sure would be a lie but she puts her finger to his lips to stop him. “No. You’re going to tell me everything. You’re going to give me the truth. Because right now, all I know is that my best friend is part of the Russian mob and is running around town swinging from buildings like he’s Tarzan and playing Robin Hood. And none of it makes any sense. So you’re going to tell me everything because right now all I know is that you’re wanted by the police for murder and none of it makes any sense.” 

She takes a deep breath as she finishes her rant to get airflow to her brain because she’s feeling a little light headed and definitely thinks the world may be spinning. Though the world spinning is probably just a side effect of realizing your best friend is some kind of jungle ninja. 

Oliver reaches up to remove her finger from her lips and uses his grip to pull her down to sit on the couch with her. 

“Okay,” he says looking like he’s trying not to laugh. “I don’t know how much coffee you’ve had to drink, but clearly you need to make the switch to decaf.” 

“Don’t,” she warns him. She’s not an idiot and if he treats her like she is, she’s going to be incredibly pissed. 

“Felicity,” he says softly. “What on Earth makes you think that I’m… what was it you said? A part of the Russian mob?” 

“Well that tattoo on your chest for one,” she says, raising her eyebrow in challenge. 

“That?” he says with a chuckle. “I got that when I was drunk.” 

She eyes him carefully, looking for any sign that he’s lying. He’s not, but that doesn’t mean he’s telling her the truth either. Just because he had been drunk when he got it, didn’t mean he didn’t get it from the Bratva. 

“You didn’t have it in Boston,” she says. “So are you telling me there was booze on the island? And a tattoo artist willing to wave how dangerous it is to get tattooed while drunk?” 

Oliver just shrugs, like it’s nothing to be concerned about. 

“And the fact that you’re fluent in Russian? What you just picked that up when you were on a deserted island did you?” she says with a snort. 

“You honestly believe this, don’t you?” he says. 

Felicity stands up and pulls her arm out of his grip. “Don’t,” she says sharply. 

“I don’t know where this is coming from,” he says. “Where did you get this idea that I’m some kind of crime lord? You  _ know _ me, do you really think I’d join the mob? How could I? In case you forgot, I’ve been out of town for awhile.” 

“Oliver Queen,” she says, pulling out the voice she always used when she needed him to do something. He called it her Mom Voice. She puts her hands on her hips and tries her best to look threatening, though she’s sure, to a mobster, she’s hardly intimidating.  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take everything I’ve found out about you and you’re little green hobby and go straight to the police.” 

When Oliver doesn’t say anything right away, she throws her hands up in the air in frustration. 

“Fine,” she says and moves to storm out of the room. 

Faster than should be humanly possible, Oliver is out of his seat and slamming the door closed as she opens it. 

“Let me go,” she says firmly, trying her best not to be afraid. After all, she’s still fairly confident that he won’t hurt her. But that knowledge somehow doesn’t stop her heart from beating fast and her blood from pounding in her ears. 

“Felicity, please,” Oliver says, sounding broken. 

It’s odd. For somebody that tortures and murders people at night, she wouldn’t have expected him to demonstrate any weakness. 

She doesn’t turn around to face him, but she doesn’t make a move to leave again. He sighs deeply and drops his hands so that he’s no longer blocking her against the door. 

“I don’t understand,” she says. 

“I can’t tell you,” he whispers. “Please just trust me.”  

“How can I trust you when I feel like I don’t even know you anymore?” she asks. 

“Because you always have,” he says. “You  _ know _ me. You know that I would never hurt you. So please don’t be scared of me.” 

“I’m not scared  _ of _ you, I’m scared  _ for _ you.” 

The moment the words leave her mouth, she realizes how true they really are. It’s not her own life that has her breathing heavily and panicking. Her heart is pounding in fear of what’s happening to Oliver. Of what’s clearly already happened to Oliver. 

“I can take care of myself,” he says. 

“Can you?” she asks, finally turning around to look at him.

“I know what I’m doing,” he says. 

“Well at least that makes one of us,” she says. 

She waits for him to say something else. Anything else. But no explanation comes. She opens the door again and this time he doesn’t stop her. 

The entire way out of the house, she keeps expecting him to come running after her and beg her not to tell anyone. She keeps expecting one of the servants to pop out at her and drag her into the basement and lock her away from threatening to expose the family secret. At the very least, she expects Moira to meet her at the door with a threat. 

None of that happens. The only response she gets is a text from Oliver as she gets into her car. 

  _Please don’t tell anyone._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always special shout to Megan for all of her support, beta work, and overall cheerleading. This fic wouldn't have happened without you. 
> 
> And as promised, this fic is the smuttiest thing I've ever written and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Hopefully it all works and you guys enjoy!

“You’re really not going to come? Oliver’s getting resurrected, you should be there. It’s everything we hoped for when they declared him dead,” Tommy says over breakfast. 

“Somehow, I’m not that interested in seeing Oliver in a courtroom again,” she says, barely looking up from her tablet. 

Tommy doesn’t know that Oliver is the Hood and a captain in the Bratva and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him. Their best friend isn’t who he says he is and it will destroy Tommy. She can’t watch him lose somebody he cares about again. 

“What happened between the two of you?” he asks, picking up both of their plates and taking them into the kitchen to put in the dishwasher. 

“Nothing,” she says. 

“Funny, that’s exactly what he said when I asked him. Neither of you are very good liars.” 

Felicity snorts at that. If he only knew the things Oliver lies about. 

“Did you two have sex?” Tommy asks. 

Felicity nearly chokes on her coffee. 

“What?” 

“You heard me,” he says. “Did you two have sex.” 

“No,” she says. 

“Because I can’t think of much else that could have happened between you two that you’d be avoiding each other so thoroughly.” 

“I’m not avoiding him,” she says, but Tommy’s face tells her that he sees right through her. 

“Fine, I am avoiding him,” she admits. “But I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“‘Lis, if Oliver did something to you, you can tell me,” he says. “I’m your friend, too.” 

“I know,” she says. She brings her empty coffee cup into the kitchen and puts it in the sink, then kisses Tommy on the cheek. “Thank you.” 

“He came back from the dead,” Tommy says. “Whatever he did, whatever happened, you should remember how many nights you stayed up late crying to have him back.” 

He’s right. She did desperately want Oliver back. But he’s wrong, too. The Oliver they knew died when the Gambit went down. 

“Enjoy your day in court,” she says. “Tell Thea I said hello.” 

Felicity feels awful keeping this from Tommy, but she doesn’t even understand it all, she doesn’t know how he’s supposed to. She has absolutely no idea who Oliver Queen really is and that’s terrifying. 

****

Felicity doesn’t go see Oliver again and he doesn’t reach out. For the next few days, she’s left with all of her unanswered questions and one single debate: What does she do with the knowledge that she has?

If she knows that Oliver is a murderer and doesn’t say anything, that makes her complicit. She could be arrested and every murder he commits from here on out will be on her head. On the other hand, if she does go to the police, Oliver will be arrested and given 35 to life. She doesn’t approve of killing people, but at the same point, he _is_ taking down truly awful men and helping the people of the Glades. It’s not so much his activities with the bow that concern her the most. It’s his ties to the Bratva. 

She can’t comprehend why one man would spend his nights taking down the worst the city has to offer in an effort to help the city’s less fortunate, while at the same time, lead an organization that specializes in human trafficking. 

“Felicity?!” Tommy yells out to her as she hears the front door slam open. 

She gets up out of bed and walks into the living room, giving him a questioning look. 

“Haven’t you heard?” he asks, looking frazzled. “Oliver and Laurel were attacked.” 

“What?” 

“There was a break in at Laurel’s apartment and some thugs tried to kill Laurel. Oliver was there, too.” 

Tommy looks like a complete mess. His hair is standing every which way like it only does when he runs his hands through it constantly and his face is pale. 

“Are they okay?” she asks, instantly wondering what the hell Oliver has dragged Laurel into. 

“They’re both fine,” Tommy says, but the way he’s acting says that he doesn’t believe it. “But we almost lost them tonight.” 

The words hit Felicity hard. 

Oliver and Laurel were just attacked. Oliver could have died tonight. 

No matter what her personal opinions are in regards to his life choices, she doesn’t want him to die. She’s hurt, confused, and scared, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about Oliver. She still loves him. The last thing she wants is to see anything happen to him. That’s most of the reason why she’s so angry about what he’s doing. Neither life in organized crime or a job as the city’s resident vigilante have a long life expectancy. She doesn’t understand why he would put himself in a position that would make him vulnerable again. It’s like he doesn't care that none of them know how to live their lives without him in it. 

God. He is such an idiot. 

“I have to go,” Felicity says. She grabs her keys out of the dish and pushes past Tommy. She doesn’t bother stopping long enough to put on real shoes or change out of her pajamas. Oliver has seen her in far worse than pajamas and slippers and right now, she is too determined to read him the riot act to take time to get dressed. 

She gets into her car and pulls up the app on her phone that she’s created with the specific purpose of tracking Oliver. She’d developed it over the last few days when it became clear that if she wanted any answers she was going to have to get them herself. So she’s been pinging Oliver’s cell phone and tracking his movements trying to see if figuring out what he does at night gives her any insight as to why he’s doing any of this. She feels slightly creepy spying on him, but she figures what he’s doing is far worse, so in the grand scheme of things she comes out alright. 

Oliver is currently at the old Queen steel factory, where she’s assumed has become the base of his operations based on the movements she’s tracked. She starts her car and heads there. 

The entire drive, she practices exactly what she’s going to say. She’s going to yell at him first for putting Laurel’s life in danger. The fact that his work followed him home is exactly the kind of reason why he shouldn’t have such dangerous work. What if Oliver hadn’t been there to protect Laurel? What if those men had attacked the Queen home? The last thing Thea needs to add to her growing list of traumas is having her life threatened by thugs. 

She’s going to explain all of the reasons why him risking his life is stupid. She’s going to explain how much of an asshole he is for keeping secrets from the people he claims to care about. She’s going to make sure he understands just how angry she is at him and then she’s going to tell him that she wants nothing to do with him if this is the life he’s choosing to live. 

Felicity loves Oliver, but she’s not going to stand by and watch him be a part of something so awful. She can’t support him as long as he’s in the Bratva and she can’t support his vigilante life as long as he’s torturing and killing men. There has to be a better way. 

Felicity parks in the alley behind the steel factory, hoping that her car is out of the way enough to avoid getting carjacked. She isn’t necessarily scared of the Glades, per say. She grew up not too far from here. But it’s because she grew up around this area that she knows how desperate people can be and how tempting it is to commit a crime when the alternative is going hungry for the night. 

She climbs through a small hole in the fence and makes her way into the factory. A giant piece of plywood in the middle of the floor sticks out like a sore thumb. Felicity rolls her eyes. Oliver really could try a little harder at hiding his super secret vigilante cave. She lifts the plywood and pulls it out of the way, revealing a large hole in the floor. It’s only a single story drop down below, but still, she’s not willing to attempt it. 

“Oliver,” she calls out, but nobody answers. She listens for any sign of life below but doesn’t find any. Clearly he’s not here anymore. She pulls out her phone but the map still shows him at this address, which means he doesn’t take his phone with him when he’s out stealing from the rich. 

She takes a seat on the floor, prepared to wait him out. She assumes he’ll have to come back eventually to hide his costume and when he does, she’ll be ready for him. 

As she waits, she attempts to connect her phone to wifi but can’t. There’s no wireless in the building and the signal for LTE is weak. Curious about what kind of technical setup he has, since the SCPD mentioned technical knowledge in the Hood’s profile, she decides to brave the drop down below to check it out. 

She considers it a win when she lands on the ground without breaking or twisting anything. She uses her cell phone for a flashlight as she looks around for a light switch or generator of some kind. He has to have something to light the place since he’s usually here at night time. A sweep of the area reveals a generator and several lights set up around the room. She makes her way over to the generator and gets it started. When the lights come on, she’s able to get a good look at his space for the first time. 

She’s not sure what she expected. She’s read comic books her entire life, so a part of her was picturing a futuristic, teched out hideout. After all, billionaire vigilantes always have the best toys. But this place is almost crude. His computer setup actually hurts her heart. His equipment is outdated. He’s leaving himself wide open to hackers. All it takes is knowing the right place to look and they’d be into his system in a heartbeat. She wonders how long Oliver can really keep this secret of his going on his own. 

She’s curious if the Bratva has any knowledge about his activities as Robin Hood. She assumes that they’d to have. She’s even debated if the Bratva are in on it. Perhaps Oliver is picking off competitors to the business and helping the Glades is only a forensic countermeasure to keep the police off of their backs. But if the Bratva approves of his activities, she assumes they would be helping him. There would be evidence of more than one person in this lair and there isn’t. 

She walks around, taking in the rest of the space with a critical eye, soaking in as much detail as she can. On the ground is a green wooden crate with a lock on it. She kneels down and pulls it out from under the table. The crate is locked, but it’s a combination lock. She puts her ear to it and twists until she hears it click into place and quickly pops open the lock. Inside she finds several items. There is a bottle of vodka that looks like it’s from Russia — no surprise there considering who he works for. There’s a leather bound notebook filled with a list of names. There’s a small satchel with some kind of herb inside. There is a picture of an Asian family – a mom, dad, and a little boy. 

“Who are you?” she says to herself. She pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the photo. She’ll run it through facial recognition software when she’s back home. 

A loud sound of something hitting the floor hard has her jumping up and screaming in fear. 

When she turns around, picture still in hand as she pushes both hands to her chest in an effort to keep her heart from falling out, Oliver is standing before her in all his green glory. 

“Please don’t touch that,” he says, reaching out to take the photo from her and puts it back in the crate, slamming it closed. 

“You scared me,” she says, still recovering. 

“I should have figured you’d make your way here eventually,” he says. “You never were good at minding your own business.” 

Felicity scoffs at that. “Well I wouldn’t have to snoop if you would just be honest with me.” 

Oliver doesn’t respond to that. He simply puts up his bow and takes off his quiver — yes, Felicity knows what a quiver is. She’s spent a lot of time learning about all things archery thanks to Oliver’s new hobby. 

“So this is the Arrow Cave,” she says. 

He looks up and glares at her. “I don’t call it that.” 

“Well what do you call it then?” she asks. 

“The bunker.” 

Felicity shakes her head. “A bunker implies war. Are you planning on waging war against the entire city?” 

She says it as a rhetorical question. Of course he’s not going to start a war with his one-man army. 

“If that’s what it takes,” he says, shocking her. 

Does he have a death wish? 

“You almost died tonight,” she reminds him, in case he’s somehow forgotten. 

“I’m fine,” he says as he unzips his jacket and pulls it off, leaving him in just his T-shirt and leather pants. 

“You almost got Laurel killed,” she says. 

Oliver’s head snaps up at that and he looks genuinely offended. “I would _never_ put any of you in danger.” 

“I think that would be more believable if you hadn’t lead your enemies to Laurel’s apartment tonight,” she says, crossing her arms. 

“I didn’t lead them to her, I was protecting her,” Oliver says. “I was walking past her apartment on the way to your place with a pint of mint chip. I wanted to apologize and knew that the fastest way to your heart was through ice cream, but when I saw the patrol cars outside of Laurel’s I got anxious and decided to see her instead. She was attacked because she was representing Victor Nocenti’s daughter in the case against Martin Somers.” 

Felicity wants to believe him. It actually is incredibly likely that a man like Martin Somers would hire somebody to kill Laurel. Especially since she is representing a girl whose dad died because he crossed Martin Somers. However, it’s hard to believe Oliver when the lies keep piling up. 

“I want to believe you,” she says.

“So do.” 

“It’s hard when I don’t know what’s real or what’s not anymore. I mean, how long have you been part of the Bratva? Is your entire family part of it?” 

“I’m not part of the Bratva,” he says. 

Felicity rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen your tattoo. I’m not an idiot.” 

“No, I mean… I’m not part of the Bratva anymore,” he says. 

“So you quit?” she says. “I thought the only way you left the brotherhood was in a body bag.” 

“The Pakhan and I have an agreement,” he says, but supplies her no more than that. 

“Okay, so you’re not part of the Bratva anymore,” she concedes. “But you _were_ and you never told me.” 

“That’s because it didn’t happen until after the island,” he admits, sighing in defeat. 

“So there really was an island,” she says. 

“Yes, there really was an island,” he responds. He pulls out a stool from under the table and gestures for her to take a seat. 

She approaches the table slowly, but doesn’t sit down. She doesn’t want to have to look up to him any more than she’s already forced to thanks to their height difference. She needs to retain as much power in this conversation as possible. She decides to push his bow out of the way and sit on the table instead, gesturing for him to take a seat on the stool. This way he’s forced to look up at her. 

“Okay,” she says. “Then the photo I saw of you in Russia was what? Photoshopped?” 

Oliver looks at her in surprised but quickly covers it up. He clearly didn’t expect her to uncover as much information as she did. 

“No… I was in Russia for part of my time away,” he admits, though she can tell it pains him to do so. “But I really was marooned on Lian Yu.” 

“But Lian Yu wasn’t really deserted, was it?” she asks, wanting him to confirm her theory about there still being Chinese prisoners on the island. 

He shakes his head. 

“I lied because I didn’t want to tell anyone what really happened.” 

“What really happened?” she asks. 

Oliver shakes his head. 

Felicity groans. Just when she thought she was getting somewhere. 

“Please,” Oliver says. “There are some things that I’m not ready to talk to you about. Some things that I’m still dealing with myself. And some other things that I can’t tell you for your own safety. I need you to trust me on that.” 

“What are you afraid would happen if you told me?” she asks. “I know how to keep a secret. I didn’t tell anyone you were the Hood, not even Tommy, even though it went against my better judgement.” 

“It’s not you that I don’t trust with my secret,” he says, begging her with his eyes to leave it be. 

Leaving anything be has never been her strong suit though. 

“You really believe that, don’t you?” she asks, eyeing him close for any sign that he’s lying but she doesn’t see any. He isn’t being entirely forthcoming and his answers are vague, but he’s not lying to her. “You think you’re protecting us by not telling everyone the truth.” 

“I can’t lose you,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t lose anyone else.” 

His eyes fill with tears. He’s trying to hold them back, but she can still see them and it breaks her heart. She’s never been good at seeing people in pain and seeing Oliver in pain is a million times worse than anything else. Despite the fact that she doesn’t approve of his actions and the fear she has over his alter egos, she slides off of the table and pulls him into a hug. 

He wraps his arms around her and holds her tight, resting his ear over her heart. 

“You’re not going to lose me,” she promises. 

No matter what he’s gotten himself involved in, Felicity isn’t going anywhere. She’s determined to help him break out of this dark life he’s found for himself and bring him back to her. He’s always been her hero and now it’s her turn to save him. 

“You should hate me,” he says. 

Felicity rubs his back in soothing circles. 

“I don’t hate you,” she says. “I don’t understand you, or any of this, but I could never hate you…” 

Felicity debates her next words carefully. A part of her is scared to admit them to him when there is still so much about his life that she doesn’t know about. When it’s painfully clear that he doesn’t trust her. There’s a very large possibility that saying them could hurt her and that’s terrifying. But she’s regretted not saying them to him all of these years and she’ll never forgive herself if something happens to him and he doesn’t know. 

“I could never hate you,” she says again. “I love you.” 

The moment the words leave her mouth, his grip on her tightens and he stops breathing. 

Then, for added measure, just to be sure they don't end up repeating any of the confusion of their youth, she adds, “I'm in love with you, Oliver. I'm not going anywhere.”

He doesn't say anything, but she can tell by the way his shoulders shake and he buries his head in her chest how much the words mean to him. 

So she says them again. And again. And again. She whispers them in a soothing voice while she runs her fingers through his hair. She says them slowly, making sure each word is clear as she holds him close. 

The seconds feel like they turn into hours and time becomes irrelevant. It doesn't matter what time it is or what day it is. The only thing that matters is taking care of Oliver. 

When he finally pulls away from her, she grabs her purse and pulls out the makeup remover wipes she keeps on hand. She takes his chin in her hand and begins gently wiping the face paint off of his face. When it is all gone, she smiles at him. 

“There’s the man I fell in love with,” she says, cradling his face with her hands. 

He reaches up to grab onto her wrists, keeping her hands in place. 

“I shouldn’t have left you those messages,” he says. “I was drunk. It wasn’t fair to ask you to come with me. You were still getting over Cooper.” 

“I wish I had gone with you,” she admits. “It’s my biggest regret.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

He closes his eyes as if the thought alone causes him great pain. 

“All those years when we thought you were lost forever, I just kept thinking about how I could have saved you if I was there,” she says. “And now, seeing what you’ve become, I wish it even more.” 

Oliver winces. “Am I really that awful?” 

He doesn’t say it with any malice. If anything, he says it like she’s confirming a long held belief he’s had. It makes her want to cry. She doesn’t know what happened to bring him to this point, but looking at him now, she knows one thing: Her Oliver is still in there. He’s broken, but he’s in there. And she can get him back. 

She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip to stop from crying. 

Oliver lets go of her and stands up. The way he towers over her sends a surge of heat through her body. He lifts his hands to frame her face and leans in close until their lips are almost touching. She’s pictured this moment so many times. She’s dreamed about what it would be like to kiss him since she they were in 6th grade and he got her that Valentine’s Day bear. 

“Felicity,” he whispers her name and it sends goosebumps up her arms. 

“Yeah?” 

She sounds dazed, even to her own ears. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says with an amused smile. 

She nods eagerly. She would like that very much. 

His lips touch hers and her entire body wakes up instantly. She stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his shoulders in an effort to get closer to him. She opens her mouth to him and his tongue doesn’t take long to begin exploring. 

It’s everything she always imagined. It’s sweet and sexy. Caring, but full of lust. It’s safe but daring and new. Oh so new. Felicity’s had her fair share of kisses, but they don’t compare to this. Oliver’s lips are unfairly soft. His hands move to her hips and he lifts her up onto the table effortlessly. 

She wouldn’t have said she had a thing for overt displays of testosterone, but Oliver can lift her up anyday. The way he picked her up like she weighed nothing… It’s insanely hot. 

His hands make their way under her shirt and he scratches at her back lightly and she’s embarrassed to admit that she purrs like a fucking cat. His hands are heaven. 

She eventually has to break away for air, but he doesn’t miss a beat. His mouth moves to her neck and she thinks that she may die. Oliver is too talented with his tongue for his own good. Heat pools in her belly and she is filled with such an intense need for him. She’s never been one to have sex anywhere but a bed. She’s surprisingly vanilla when it comes to that stuff, but if Oliver doesn’t stop sucking on her pulse point like that she’s going to have to take him right here. 

“Oh God,” she moans when his hands make their way to her chest and begin massaging her breasts through her bra. 

Felicity hooks her legs around him and pulls him as close as she can get him. She thanks god for this perfectly placed table because it lines them up perfectly and she’s able to feel his impressive hard on. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, biting her neck as she rubs against him. 

“Please,” she moans. 

She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, happy to lose the sweatshirt. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire and the cool air against her bare back helps. 

Oliver groans as his hands rush to explore every bit of newly exposed skin. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his lips make their way to the tops of her breast and his fingers begin pinching at her nipples through her bra. 

“Oliver,” she cries out as she pulls at his T-shirt to untuck it from his pants.

She needs him, now. Desperately. She feels like she’s going to explode if he doesn’t touch her soon. 

Then, all too suddenly, he pulls away from her and takes several large steps back as he pants heavily. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, out of breath. She reaches out for him, wanting him to come back to her. Now that he’s stepped away, the chill in the air doesn't feel refreshing anymore, it’s just cold. 

Oliver shakes his head and takes hold of her hand, but doesn't move any closer. 

“I don’t want to do this here,” he says, causing her heart to drop. 

“Oh,” she says, disappointed. 

They’d gone too far. She’d misread the signs. She tries to pull her hand out of his own as her other hand moves to cover up her body, but he won’t let her. Instead he lifts her hand up to leave an open mouth kiss on the inside of her wrist. 

“I’ve waited years for this moment,” he says apologetically. “I don’t want to do it on this dirty table. I want a bed. I want somewhere I can have you for hours without distractions.” 

“Hours?” she asks, raising her eyebrow at him. She’s not even sure if she’ll last more than five minutes alone with him once they start. How does he expect her to last hours? He’s clearly delusional. She’s never had sex for hours. Sex marathons are something made up for romance novels. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oliver says with a wicked smile that makes her toes curl with want. “I have plans.” 

“I like plans,” she whispers, biting her lip as she imagines all the things Oliver could do to her. She’s never been one to play, but Oliver makes her want. 

Oliver looks her up and down as he licks his lips. She takes a shuddering breath as she squeezes her thighs together. She’s wet. Wetter than she’s ever been without anyone actually touching her. 

And oh does she want Oliver to touch her. 

“Do you really need a bed?” she asks innocently, opening her legs up for him again and pulling on her arm. He thankfully steps back in between her legs and kisses her long and hard. Unfortunately, he pulls away before they can get caught up again. 

“Trust me,” he says. “It’ll be worth the wait.” 

He kisses her forehead. “What do you say we get out of here?” 

Felicity nods. Oliver helps her off of the table and catches her when her legs give out, causing her to turn an impressive shade of red. Yet another thing she didn’t know could happen in real life. Oliver’s kisses have actually made her weak in the knees. 

“Sorry,” she says. 

He doesn’t respond, but the look of pride on his face tells her that he doesn’t mind one bit. 

He hands her her sweatshirt back and moves to the corner of the room. As soon as she realizes that he’s changing out of his leather pants and into a less conspicuous pair of khakis, she averts her eyes. It’s silly. With what they were just doing — with what they are about to do — she’s going to end up seeing him naked. But somehow, watching him change still feels like an intrusion. The first time she sees him naked, she wants to be able to touch and caress every exposed piece of skin. To kiss away every scar his time away left him with. 

She throws her sweatshirt back on and looks around for the exit, eager to get them to a bed so they can continue what they’d been doing before. She doesn’t see one. 

“Where are the stairs?” she asks. 

“Oh, uh…” 

He scratches the back of his neck and looks at her sheepishly. 

“You don’t have stairs,” she says with a nod. Of course he doesn’t have stairs. He’s a ninja. He probably just parkours his way out of this place. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I hadn’t exactly planned on visitors.” 

Felicity looks up at the hole in the ceiling that she’d come down from. “Well I’m regretting some life decisions right about now.” 

Oliver smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you out.” 

He lunges a bit and holds out his hands like he wants her to climb up on him like a circus act. She eyes him skeptically. 

“You do remember that I broke my ankle the time my mom forced me to try out for cheerleading, right?” she says. 

Oliver laughs. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s heard from him since he got back and she didn’t realize how much she missed it. He’s so breathtaking when he smiles. 

“I do, but I won’t let you fall. I promise.” 

She still thinks he’s overestimating her ability to balance on anything, but she recognizes that they don’t have a lot of options here. 

“You don’t have a ladder?” she asks, just to make sure. 

“I have a rope I climb up to get out,” he says with an amused smile. “Did you want to try that?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Didn’t think so,” he says. “Come on. Just step up and I’ll do all the work.” 

Felicity puts her hands on his shoulders and takes a deep breath before she puts her foot in his hands. 

“Now stand up,” he says. 

She does, but the second he stands up as well and begins lifting her up, she starts freaking out. 

“No, no, no, no” she says, refusing to let go of his shoulders even as he continues lifting her higher. She’s sure they are quite the sight to behold. 

“Felicity,” Oliver laughs. “Stand up. You’re fine.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m just now realizing I have a fear of heights.” 

“I’m not going to let you fall, just stand up and reach,” he says. 

“Maybe you should just leave me down here,” she says, refusing to let go of his shoulders. 

He doesn’t even look like he’s breaking a sweat as he holds her up. It’s ridiculous how strong he is. Then again, she assumes you can’t really be a crime fighting vigilante that swings from building to building unless you’re solid muscle. And she’d gotten a good feel of Oliver tonight. He is definitely solid muscle. 

She’s eager to get her hands on him again with far less clothes on, but right now she’s a little too preoccupied with trying not to die. 

“Let me down,” she pleads with him. 

Oliver grumbles but sets her back down on the floor. 

“How do you plan on getting out?” Oliver asks, looking down at her like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at her. 

“I don’t,” she says. “You can bring me food down here. I’ll be fine.” 

“Really?” he asks. “You want to live down here?” 

“Yep.” She nods. 

“With the rats,” he says. 

“Rats?” she asks, jumping into his arms as she looks around for any sign of moment. 

Oliver knows that there is one thing she hates more than anything and it’s rats. She’s lived in a lot of shitty apartments so she’s used to bugs of all kinds. But the one thing she’s never gotten used to are rats. Her apartment in the Glades had them and she was always calling Oliver over to help her trap them so she wouldn’t have to see them. 

“Still want to live down here?” he asks with a smirk. 

“Alright smartass,” she says, tapping his shoulder until he lunges down again. “Drop me and I’ll use my loud voice on you.” 

“I won’t drop you,” he says with a roll of his eyes. 

She steps into his hands and this time she doesn’t freak out. She slowly lets go of his shoulders and stands up straight. He lifts her up until she’s able to reach the hole in the floor above and grab on. 

“Alright, now what?” she asks. 

“Pull yourself up.” 

Felicity scoffs. “I can’t!” 

“You can,” he says. “It’s just a chin up.” 

“I can’t do a chin up,” she says, causing him to groan. 

“Five years away and he thinks I’ve turned into American Ninja Warrior,” she grumbles. 

“I can hear you,” he says. “Just… hold on.” 

He lets go of her feet and she shrieks. “Oliver!” 

“One second, you’re fine,” he says. 

She looks down, which is definitely a mistake because somehow it looks a lot farther now than it did when she initially jumped down. He grabs his chair and pulls it under her and stands on it before taking her feet again and hoisting her up enough so that she can finally pull herself back up to the main floor.

She doesn’t do it gracefully, but she does it. And for that she’s incredibly relieved. 

Oliver is up and next to her in a matter of seconds, which just makes her feel awful. 

“I hate you,” she says. 

“No you don’t,” he says, reaching down to pull her to her feet. “I have to say, watching you do that was oddly attractive.” 

She glares at him. “Well it’s never happening again. Build me some stairs.” 

“Why would I need to build you stairs?” he asks. “You’re not coming back.” 

“Like hell I’m not,” she says. “That computer setup you have is tragic. It actually hurts my heart to see. And though I may not approve of your nightly crime fighting, I sure as hell am not going to let you continue to do it alone. You’ll get yourself killed.” 

“You are _not_ joining me,” he says firmly, all amusement gone from his voice. 

“You are not continuing to go out there alone,” she says. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Felicity, you can’t even do a chin up,” he says. “You aren’t going out there.” 

“Who said anything about going out there,” she says. “I’m going to be your tech girl. You clearly have your mind set on risking your life for no good reason, and I’m going to have to learn to live with that, I guess. But the only way I’ll be able to sleep at night is if I know you have me there to watch your back.” 

“You’re going to be my tech girl?” He eyes her carefully, like he doesn’t believe her. 

“One of us in this room has graduated from MIT with a masters in cyber security and computer science and one of us flunked out of four schools,” she says, putting her hands on her hips daring him to say she can’t do the job. 

“I don’t want you anywhere near this,” he says, firmly. 

“I don’t want _you_ anywhere near this,” she says. “I’ve already lost you once. I’m not doing it again. So either you hang up the hood or you build me some stairs because I’m joining your team.” 

He watches her long and hard. She can see his wheels spinning. He’s trying to think of a way to talk her out of this, but he should know her well enough to know that’s not possible. 

Felicity stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on his cheek. 

“While you try pointlessly to think of a way to talk me out of it, why don’t we get going,” she says, taking his hand and pulling him towards the exit. “I seem to remember something about plans…” 

The reminder of sex on the horizon for them is clearly enough for Oliver to let go of his concerns for the time being, because he smiles down at her. 

“So many plans.” 

****

When Felicity steps into Oliver’s room and he quietly shuts the door behind them, she can’t help but giggle. They are 27 years old and still sneaking around like teenagers. 

He gives her a curious look. 

“Just like old times,” she says. 

He has to laugh at that. 

Back when they were still kids and Felicity lived in Starling, she used to sneak into his bedroom at night after everyone went to bed. She hated sleeping in the guest bedroom. She used to think the place was haunted. Even though their nights together were completely innocent, Felicity is sure Moira would have had a heart attack if she ever found out that Oliver and her used to share a bed growing up. 

She’ll probably still have a heart attack if she sees Felicity and Oliver sharing a bed now. The two of them together is Moira Queen’s worst nightmare. 

“I don’t know why I snuck you up here,” Oliver chuckles. “We’re both adults.” 

“Habit,” she says with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t think running into your mother on the stairs would have put me in the mood.” 

In fact, the thought of running into Moira at all has her debating if they should have gone to her place. Sure, Tommy’s bound to still be awake and is unlikely to let them live down the fact that they are about to hook up, but him offering them condoms has to be better than the judgemental look she’s sure to get from Moira. 

She can already hear the snide remarks about propriety she’ll get. She can only guess what she’ll say to Oliver about her when she leaves. 

Felicity Smoak isn’t good enough for Oliver Queen in the eyes of his mother. She never has been. Usually, she can brush that off. Moira is a classist and it really has nothing to do with Felicity personally, it’s just her upbringing. Moira’s ignorant and close minded. But now that Felicity’s actually about to have sex with Oliver, she can hear every negative comment in her mind. 

Felicity isn’t good enough for Oliver. This can’t really be happening. 

What happens when he realizes she’s nothing special and gets bored with her? 

She glances down at herself, wishing she’d stopped long enough to change out of her pajamas before running out of the house. Nothing about her worn out MIT sweatshirt, neon pink sports bra, and martini glass pajama pants screams sexy. 

She looks up and realizes they are still standing by the door. He hasn’t moved. He seems to be waiting for her to take the lead here and that thought only increases the nerves. She looks over at his bed and wonders how many other women he’s had up here. How many women he’s slept with in general. She’s heard the stories. She knows that he’s far more adventurous than she is in bed. How is she supposed to measure up to that? 

She bites her bottom lip. This is an awful idea. As much as she loves Oliver, and as long as she’s waited for this moment to come, now that it’s here, she’s positive that she’s going to mess it up. 

Oliver must sense her hesitancy, because he moves into the room and crooks his finger at her. 

“Come here,” he says with that adorable smile of his that has always gotten her into trouble. 

She shuffles her feet until she’s standing next to him in front of his bed. He reaches out to grab her hands and threads their fingers together. His thumb moves across the inside of her wrist. The touch is innocent enough, but she feels the warmth in her belly start to pool again. If he can turn her into putty with a simple caress of his fingertips, what is it going to feel like once they are both actually naked? 

“Felicity?” 

“Hmm?” She looks up from where she’d been staring at their hands to meet his eyes. 

“Say it again.” 

She doesn’t have to ask him what he’s talking about. She already knows. She knows because she’s replayed the drunken message he left her thousands of times just to hear those three little words that she cherished so much. 

“I love you,” she says, loving the way that the words bring a bright smile to his face. 

It’s easy to ignore her doubts when he’s smiling at her like she has the answer to every question he’s ever asked. When he’s smiling at her like that, he’s not Oliver Queen, tabloid sensation, he’s just Oliver. Her Oliver. 

“I love you, too,” he says, bringing their hands up until they are resting against his heart. “You’re the reason.” 

She doesn’t understand what he means by that. She’s the reason for what? She looks at him carefully, trying to figure out what he’s trying to say. 

He clears his throat and shifts back and forth on his feet, like he always does when he’s searching for the right words to say. It’s adorable. She’s always thought so. But it’s also comforting in its familiarity. This is quintessential Oliver right here. This is the man she fell in love with, not the face he shows the rest of the world. 

“There were many days I didn’t know if I would be able to make it through the day,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on a spot above her head. “There were many days I didn’t know if I’d ever make it home again. Or if I even deserved to.” 

“Oliver,” she gasps in shock. 

“You’re the reason I came home,” he says. “I didn’t know if you’d ever love me. Or if you’d even still want to be my friend…” 

“Of course I loved you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you. I tried to call you that morning to tell you that, but you’d already left.” 

Oliver lets go of her hands and cradles her face instead, pulling her close until their foreheads are touching. 

“You’re the reason I came home,” he says again. “You were the light that kept me alive.” 

She closes her eyes and thanks god that he did make it home. That she didn’t lose him like she’d thought. 

“My North Star,” she whispers the words he’s said all those years ago, and she can feel him nod. She opens her eyes and shivers at the deep intensity in his eyes. 

“This, right here?” he pauses to give her a chaste kiss. “This is home.” 

“Oliver.” She pulls him into a hug and holds him as close as she can. “You’re my home, too. I’ve been so lost without you.” 

“You had Tommy,” he says, squeezing her so tight she can barely breathe, but she doesn’t complain. She needs this. 

“Tommy isn’t you,” she says. “He tries, but it’s not the same. I needed you.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, burying his face in her neck. “I should have been here. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “You would have been here if you could.” 

His body tenses at her words, and it reminds her that there is so much more to his story that she doesn’t know, yet. 

“You would have been here if you could,” she says, pulling back to look him in the eyes, needing to reassure herself that the words are true. 

“You wouldn’t have wanted me to come home,” he says, shaking his head and dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m not the man that left.” 

Felicity has to bite back tears as she registers what he’s telling her. He had the option of returning home sooner and didn’t take it. The realization squeezes at her heart painfully. She shakes her head, refusing to believe it. 

“I wanted to come home so badly,” he says. “But you deserved better than what I could offer you. You still do.”

“No,” she cries. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve and don’t. I deserved _you_. Whatever shape you were in, I _needed_ you.” 

“I’m not a good man,” he says. 

She’s reminded of the Bratva tattoo on his chest and the scars that litter his body. Of the police reports of the Hood and the violence he uses to get his way. There’s a darkness in Oliver. One she’s been scared of since she discovered his secret. However, the look of regret on his face tells her all she needs to know. Oliver isn’t a bad man. He never has been. He’s just lost. And lost people can be found again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Nothing you could ever do would ever make you undeserving. Nothing you have become would make me stop wanting you around. You say I’m your North Star, but you don’t realize that you’re mine, too.”

His eyes fill with tears as she says the words, and she can tell he doesn’t believe them but he appreciates them nonetheless. 

She still can’t believe that he’s had the opportunity to come home sooner and didn’t take it. It infuriates her. She wants to yell at him. She wants to scream at him for being so selfish. She has so many questions about where he’s been and why he didn’t feel like he could come home. But she holds them in. There will be time for that later. Right now, what they both need is reassurance. 

She grabs onto his hands and places them on her hips before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“You’re home,” she says. “That’s all that matters.” 

He nods, like he’s trying to convince himself that it’s true. 

“You’re home,” she says it again, because they both need to hear it. 

“I love you,” he says slowly, reverently. 

He wraps one of his arms around her back and uses the other one to cradle her cheek, lifting her chin up slightly so that he can lean down and kiss her once. Twice. Three times. 

When he moves to pull back the third time, she doesn’t let him. She pulls him as close as she can and opens her mouth to him, deepening the kiss. 

She’s done with talking. They can have a conversation anytime. Oliver spoke of plans and she’s determined to see what they entail. After all, they both need this. 

“You mentioned something about hours...” she whispers, as she turns them around and pushes at him until he’s seated on the edge of the bed. 

“Mmmm… So many plans,” he says, pulling on her waist until she straddles his lap. 

The hand that’s at her cheek moves to her neck and he kisses her again. This time it’s anything but innocent. It’s deep and wet and so incredibly filthy it would probably make a porn star blush. 

But oh dear god is it glorious. Her toes curl. Her skin feels like it’s on fire. She can’t help but grind down on him, and the only thing stopping her from moaning loud enough to wake the entire mansion are his lips glued to her own. 

They continue to kiss and explore each other as she begins to move against him. The friction between them is a sweet torture. She doesn’t think she can handle much more, but she also never wants to stop. This moment has been 16 years in the making and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take the time to enjoy every second. 

His lips move from her mouth over to her ear and his teeth pulling at her industrial piercing have her moaning loudly.

“You’re going to wake the whole house,” he teases. 

Felicity rolls her eyes. “This place is the size of Disneyland. I can’t imagine anyone is close enough to hear me.” 

“Even if they do,” he says, pausing to pull on her ear again, making her moan. “I don’t care. I like hearing you.” 

She blushes at that, but moves her hand to the back of his neck to encourage him to continue. His hands find their way to her ass as he pulls her closer. She can feel him against her and it’s driving her crazy. She wants more. She wants all of him. 

She pushes against his chest until he falls into the bed. She braces her hands on either side of his head and leans over him to leave open mouth kisses along his neck. It’s her turn to explore. 

His skin is salty and he smells like the Fourth of July. And even though she knows she should question him about what he’d been up to this evening that has him smelling like gunfire, she doesn’t. She’s too caught up in her lust to worry about his extracurriculars. No matter what he’s been up to, he made it home alive and safe. He’s here and god does she plan on taking advantage of that. 

She mouths at his neck and reveals in the way it makes him thrust up against her. His hands trace up and down her back, lovingly. It’s crazy that his touch can feel so tender and caring while also setting her on fire. Felicity has never wanted anyone as badly as she wants Oliver in this moment. 

His hands make their way to the hem of her sweatshirt and she sits up in anticipation of him pulling it off of her, but he doesn’t move. He looks at her, waiting for permission. 

She nods to let him know it’s okay. “I’m yours,” she says, making sure it’s clear to him that whatever he wants to do tonight, she’s more than okay with it. 

Her words make him groan and he sits up, nearly ripping her sweatshirt from her body. As soon as her head is free, he moves in for a kiss, and her arms end up getting tangled up in the sleeves. She whines, needing to touch him, and he thankfully breaks away from her long enough to help her out of her sweatshirt fully before diving back in, both of them giggling like school children. 

She can’t get over how soft his lips are. It’s like he was made for kissing. His tongue explores her mouth and she can barely breathe. Her heart feels like it may come out of her chest. She needs more. He’s intoxicating. Kissing Oliver makes her understand what all those romance novels are talking about. Never before has she been so worked up over a kiss. 

“More,” she mumbles, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. He wraps his arms around her, lifting and twisting her until she’s on her back. He covers her body with his own and thrusts against her, making her cry out. 

She’s so embarrassingly wet by now that she’s worried she may actually come before he even gets her clothes off. Which is unacceptable. They need to be naked. Like, _yesterday._

Her hands go back to the hem of his shirt, but he grabs onto them and pins them above her head, making her whine. He licks his way down her neck and chest until he gets to her breast and begins leaving open mouth kisses through her bra. 

She bends her knees so that she has some leverage and lifts her hips up to meet his own.

“Fuck,” he says, lowering his body to lay on top of her completely. His weight against her is welcome. Instead of feeling trapped, she feels comforted and protected. He’s always made her feel safe and this is no different. 

She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer since he won’t let go of her arms. The two of them move together, getting into a nice rhythm as he continues to mouth at her through her bra. 

“Off,” she groans, needing their clothes gone. 

He rearranges her wrists so he’s pinning her down with one hand — which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, but damn is he strong — and he pulls her sports bra up with his other hand until her breasts are free. 

Oliver has always been impatient, and apparently sex is no different. He gets her bra over her head, but doesn’t bother removing it any further before he buries his head in her chest. Her arms are now trapped in her bra and his arm is still pinning her wrists, making it impossible for her to touch him like she wants to. 

“No,” she cries out, tugging on her wrists while simultaneously pulling him closer with her legs. 

“Patience,” he says, looking up at her with a devilish smirk that is hardly fair. He’s so fucking handsome. Always has been. 

She removes her left leg from around his waist and uses her foot to try and push him away. 

“My turn,” she says, her voice high and breathless. 

She must sound pathetic, because he takes pity on her and wraps his arm around her waist and rolls them over so she’s straddling his body again. 

She untangles herself from her bra and tosses it across the room. 

“Better,” she says, smiling down at him. 

“Much,” he says, staring at her chest. 

His eyes are practically black with lust and his cheeks are flushed. His lips are swollen and red. He looks like pure sin and it does nothing to cool the warm pit in her stomach. 

She brings her hands to the hem of his shirt and begins pulling it up but he reaches out to stop her. 

“I know I don’t have as much experience as you, but I have it on good authority that clothes are supposed to come off,” she teases. 

The look on his face isn’t amused or turned on, it’s worried. His brows are furrowed and he’s retreating into his head, which is the last thing she wants. 

“Hey,” she says, dropping his shirt and moving her hands to caress his chest. “Talk to me.” 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Do you want to stop?” she asks. 

He shakes his head, but doesn’t open his eyes to look at her. 

“Oliver,” she says and waits for him to open his eyes. When he does, she smiles down at him, kindly. “It’s just me.” 

He takes another steadying breath and lifts his hands up to cradle her face. “I don’t want you to see me.” 

His scars. 

He’s worried about her seeing the extent of his trauma. 

She gets that. She’s insecure about her body, too. Especially as she sits here without a top on, completely exposed. She’s not built like the supermodels he usually sleeps with. Her stomach is soft where it should be toned and she has curves where she should be slender. She knows what it’s like to be unsure about her body, but Oliver has no reason to doubt himself. He’s always been the most handsome man she’s ever met. Some scars won’t change that.

“Show me,” she says. 

He hesitates for another moment before he eventually nods. He sits up and together, they take his shirt off. 

Felicity saw the pictures from the hospital, so in theory, she was prepared to see him. Reality is something else entirely. The proof of everything he went through to get back home to her claws at her chest and puts knots of worry in her stomach. Her eyes fill with tears. 

“Oh, Oliver,” she says. 

He looks away in shame and she realizes her mistake. He thinks she doesn’t want him. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. If anything, seeing him just makes her want him all the more. She wants to kiss every inch of him and replace every bad memory with love and affection. She wants him to know how grateful she is that he had the strength to survive. That he chose to come back home to her. 

She shifts down so that she’s sitting on his thighs. She traces over his scars with her nails and watches as the muscles in his stomach tighten. She smiles at his reaction and does it again, transfixed by how built he really is. She didn’t know they made men like that without airbrushing and other movie magic. He’s like a real life action hero. 

Need pools between her legs, but she ignores it. This moment is for Oliver. He needs to know how much she loves him. 

She leans over and places a kiss to the large scar on his shoulder. 

“Beautiful,” she whispers into his skin. 

His arms wrap around her body and his hand tangles in her ponytail. 

She moves across him to leave an open mouth kiss at the large, circular scar on his chest. 

“Strong,” she says, leaving several more kisses to the area of skin there to make sure she covers every inch. 

She moves to the other side of his chest and licks up the scars there, carefully avoiding his Bratva tattoo. She plans on saving that for last. 

“Sexy.” 

She licks at his nipple and blows on it, enjoying how it makes him shiver. She looks up at him as she pulls his nipple into her mouth and watches as his mouth opens as closes, unable to form words as he breathes heavily. 

She shifts further down and spends a great deal of time on the gash across his rib-cage. The skin is puckered and red even though it looks years old. She can only imagine how bad the injury was to earn him this scar. 

“Brave,” she whispers. 

His hand tugs on her hair tie and pulls it free. Her curls fall around her shoulders and curtain around her. Oliver reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, caressing her face with the backs of his fingers. 

She glances up at him. He’s looking at her with such love and gratitude that she can’t help but smile at him. 

She licks over the animal bite on his side and giggles at the way he squirms under her. It’s a little known secret that Oliver is incredibly ticklish on his sides. 

“Stunning.” 

Her fingers trace over the perfect V of his hips. Honestly, if she didn’t have the rise and fall of his chest as proof that he’s alive, she wouldn’t believe he was real. 

Her eyes follow the trail of hair that disappears into his pants and she wants so badly to tear them off and have her way with him, but she’s not finished yet. She pulls at his hips until he takes the hint and rolls over onto his stomach. 

Her eyes immediately go to the massive burn that covers a third of his back. 

She runs her hands over it, gently caressing the skin there. The skin is uneven. Of all the scars he has, this one looks the freshest. She wonders how recently he received it and how he even got it. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks. 

Oliver moves so his arms are under his head and rests his cheek against them. “Sometimes,” he admits, looking back at her over his shoulder. 

She removes her hands quickly and apologizes. She doesn’t want to hurt him. That isn’t her intent. She only wants to make him feel good. 

“Hey,” he says to get her attention. When she looks up from his scar, he’s smiling at her softly. “It doesn’t hurt when _you_ touch it.” 

She nods her head but makes no move to resume her exploration of his body. Her eyes follow the strong muscles of his back and wonders at what point he learned to fight back against the torture he’s clearly endured. Suddenly, him being a ninja isn’t quite so terrifying. She’s relieved to know that he learned to take care of himself. God knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t. 

“Felicity,” he says. 

“Hmm?” she responds, barely looking up from where she’s studying the lines of his dragon tattoo, trying to figure out what the meaning behind it is. 

“It feels good,” he says, raising his eyebrows at her, silenting asking her to resume touching him. 

She eyes him carefully, trying to sort out if he’s being honest or just trying to make her feel better. 

“It’s been…” he clears his throat, and she smiles at him. 5 years away haven’t made him any more comfortable sharing his feelings. He’s always prefered to show her how he feels with warm hugs, gentle touches, and occasional gifts rather than words. “It’s been awhile since anyone’s touched me like this.” 

Well that shatters her heart. Of course it has. From the looks of him, all anyone’s done in the last 5 years is torture him. It’s no wonder he’s enjoying her touch. He’s probably starved for affection. 

She places her hands back on him, looking for any sign of discomfort. When all she sees is relief, she traces the outline of his burn mark. 

“Perfect,” she says lovingly, leaning down to place gentle kisses to his rough skin. 

He lets out a shuddering breath. She wonders if this is hard for him. To lay bare for her and trust that she won’t criticize him or do him any more harm. She hopes not. Oliver has to know how much she cares about him. He has to know that he can trust her with his life. 

“I love you,” she says again, for good measure. She spends a great deal of time kissing his burn, tracing the maze of raised skin until his muscles relax and he’s humming contently. 

Once she’s satisfied that she’s kissed away any remaining pain there, she moves up his body and lays over his back, mouthing at his dragon tattoo.

“Survivor,” she says. 

“Felicity,” he whispers, and attempts to roll over, but she presses all of her weight on him to keep him in his place. 

She’s not finished yet. She set out to kiss away every scar on his body and she’s going to do that. 

“Shhh,” she says when he goes to complain. She kisses him on the lips to reward him for his patience. She lets his tongue explore her mouth for a little bit and smiles at the way he tries to push back against her. 

She pulls away from him and whispers into his ear, “Almost done.” 

Oliver growls impatiently. She knows that he could flip them over in a second and have his way with her. His strength is impressive and there’s no way that she’d be able to keep him in place if he truly wanted to move. But he doesn’t attempt to break out of her hold and that makes her smile. 

She rubs up and down his arms and massages his shoulders as she moves to kiss at the scars on the back of his neck. Clearly she hits one of his sensitive spots because he moans and cries out her name. 

“Lovely,” she says as she places a kiss against each of the small scars that litter his neck. 

She sits back up and runs her hands over his back, massaging at the tight muscles there. She takes her time rubbing over every inch of him as he moans under her. The sounds send a bolt of anticipation straight to her core and she honestly cannot wait until he’s inside of her. 

Once she has worked out every knot in his muscles, she taps at his side to get him to roll over. He takes direction well, which shouldn’t surprise her. He was always easy to boss around when they were kids. Everyone else always said Oliver was stubborn, but she never had a hard time getting him to listen to her when she wanted. 

She settles back down on his lap and Oliver grabs the back of her neck and pulls her to him, kissing her desperately. He practically devours her as his hands go directly to her ass and pull her against him. 

She hisses as he rubs against her. The build up has been too much, she’s overcome with need. 

“More,” she groans as her hands reach blindly for his zipper.

“Yes,” he cries out as she rubs him a few times through his pants before finding the button and ripping it open. 

His hands move up to massage her breasts. 

“Oh god,” she moans as he rolls her nipples between his fingers, causing her nerves to go haywire. 

God, those fingers aren’t even fair. She takes back everything she said about archery being utterly ridiculous because she’s sure that’s what she has to thank for the way he’s able to twist and pull at her so gracefully. 

She tries to pull his pants down, but she can't coordinate her hands when he’s busy kissing her like there’s no tomorrow and thrusting against her at a painful pace. 

“Oliver,” she whines as his mouth moves to her neck and his hands go back to her ass, pulling her against him. 

Everything is too much. His hands, his mouth, his body, it’s overwhelming. The room feels like it’s on fire and her body is practically trembling with need. So much need. She needs to touch, to taste, to feel. She’s waited years for this moment and she needs… God does she need. 

The sound of his lips sucking at her neck is utterly filthy and so incredibly sexy. She pulls at his hair to get him to lift his head. He growls, which shouldn’t be a turn on for her, but it is. Oliver’s looking at her like he wants to consume her and despite how much she thought that would make her feel like an object rather than a person, with Oliver it’s different. She knows that he cares about her. He respects her. He just wants her as badly as she wants him. 

It’s everything she ever wanted and nothing she ever thought she’d get. 

She mouths down his neck and chest, stopping to trace the lines of his Bratva tattoo with her tongue. 

“Home,” she says, possessively, causing him to moan loudly. His hands find their way back into her hair and he tries to pull her back up to his lips, but she continues her path downwards, finding his other tattoo. 

“My home,” she says, sucking at the skin there and biting it until he cries out in pleasure. “Mine.” 

“Yours,” he agrees. 

She stops her frantic pace for a second and rests her head against his stomach, looking up at him. Both of them taking in the moment. This is it. It’s really happening. 

He smiles down at her, blissfully happy. She doesn’t actually know the last time she saw him so happy. It’s been years. Before the Gambit. Before college even. She thinks it may have been high school. The time he flew to Las Vegas to surprise her for her birthday and they spent the entire weekend talking and watching movies in his hotel room. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year when he’d shown up on her doorstep and they’d both been so relieved to see each other again that Oliver hardly let her out of his sight. He had kept pulling her in for tight hugs and telling her he missed her constantly. 

God, she should have told him back then how she felt. They could have had so much time together. 

“Stop,” he says, smoothing out the worry lines on her forehead. “No more thinking, just be.” 

“Just be?” she teases. As if she’s ever able to turn her brain off. 

“Just be,” he repeats. His arms wrap around her and he flips them over faster than she can blink and shifts down so that their foreheads are touching. 

“I love you so much,” he says. 

“I love you, too.” 

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever tire of saying that to him. Of hearing him say it to her. 

He kisses her again and this time it’s slow, filled with so much promise. His hands caress her sides and send goosebumps over her body. He pulls on her bottom lip with his teeth, eliciting the most erotic sound she’s ever made. She instantly blushes and tries to hide her face in his shoulder, but he won’t let her. 

“So sexy,” he says breathlessly as he ruts against her. 

She’s ready. She’s been ready for so long it’s painful. If she doesn’t come soon, she’s worried she may actually die. Her hands go to the tie at her pajama pants and Oliver grabs her wrists and pulls them over her head, pinning her to the bed, unable to move. Again. If this is going to be a thing of his, they are going to have to talk. She needs to be able to touch him. It’s not fair. 

“Let me,” he says, kissing her protests away. 

He lets go of her wrists, but she doesn’t move her arms. Instead, she watches as Oliver gently pulls at the drawstring of her pants, the bow coming undone easily. 

“Oliver,” she cries out as he places an open mouth kiss under her belly button. His mouth is warm and wet and she wants so much more. 

“Yes,” she says as his hands make their way into her underwear, finally touching her where she needs him most. 

“So wet,” he pants, and when she looks into his eyes, he’s fargone. His pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost completely black. She can’t imagine she’s any better. 

She begins rutting against his hand, and attempts to pull her pants off so that he can have more access, but she can’t manage that kind of coordination when her body is trembling and her vision is going white with pleasure. 

She’s breathing heavily and making needy noises that can’t be attractive at all, but she can’t help it. It’s too much. She can feel her orgasm building up and she needs more. She squeezes her thighs to keep his hands in place, terrified that he’s going to stop at any second. Scared that she’s going to wake up and realize this was just another one of her vivid dreams. That she’ll come to and find that he was never here at all. 

“Let go,” he says, his voice deeper than she’s ever heard it before. 

He rubs at her clit quickly, the pace almost painful. Her thighs are shaking and she can barely catch her breath. She cries out as her vision goes completely white and her orgasm finally hits her. Wave after wave of pleasure wash over her until she melts into the mattress, unable to form any coherent words. Every muscle in her body is useless. She can’t move. 

“Fuck,” she sighs, trying to catch her breath again. 

Oliver’s fingers hook into her waistband and pull her pants and underwear off of her in one seamless motion. 

She’s just had the most mind blowing orgasm of her life, so it takes her a minute to realize that Oliver is staring at her. His eyes are taking in every inch of her body and that’s when she finally processes that she’s completely naked in front of him for the first time. 

And he’s just… watching her, not doing anything. 

She instantly feels nervous. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he doesn’t like what he sees. She tries to remember if she’d even taken the time to shave this morning. God, she hopes so. It’s not something she always does anymore. It’s not like she’s had anyone to shave for. 

As each moment passes and he doesn’t move, she grows more self-conscious. The warm glow of her orgasm is wearing off and she starts shifting under his gaze. She closes her legs and wraps her arms around her chest to cover herself up. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, scared he’s going to tell her this has been a mistake. After all, she’s not like the girls he usually sleeps with. Maybe now that he’s seen her, he’s realizing that she can’t give him what he needs. 

Oliver takes hold of her wrists and gently uncrosses them, lacing their fingers together and pulling them over her head as he leans over her to give her a gentle kiss. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says with tears in his eyes. “There wasn’t a single night that I didn’t think of you. That I didn’t wish for this. But the reality is just so much better than I imagined.” 

Felicity smiles at that. She knows him well enough to know that he truly believes his words. She kisses him again, tracing his teeth with her tongue until he opens up to her. His tongue pushes into her mouth to explore and she sucks on it, trying to memorize his taste. If this is the only moment they ever get, she wants to remember every second of it. 

She hopes that fate is done being cruel to them, however. She hopes that they are finally being given a reprieve from all the pain. That they’ll grow to be old and grey and still be having sex like it’s their first time. She wants tonight, but she also wants forever. They’ve earned it. 

Oliver pulls away and looks directly into her eyes, “I need you.” 

Felicity nods, giving him permission. She needs him, too. 

She kisses him again, and just like a rubber band, his restraint snaps. His hands are everywhere at once, his fingers are desperate to touch every inch of her. His lips follow suit, dragging over her body and sucking at every piece of skin he can reach. She’s sure there will be marks in the morning, but she doesn’t care. If he wants to mark her as his own, she’s happy to let him. She’s waited 16 years to be his. 

She tries to pull his pants down, but she can’t reach. He’s just so tall. She moves her legs to try and push them off with her heels, impatient to get him naked and inside of her and quickly as she can. She manages to get his pants down past his ass but that’s about it. Which is fine, it gives her an opportunity to grab at that delicious ass of his. 

Oliver’s always had a good booty. She grabs and pulls at him, making him groan and thrust right into her. When she looks down, the front of his pants are soaking wet from her. 

She sincerely hopes that Raisa sends his clothes out for laundry and the kind housekeeper won’t have to clean her sex off of Oliver’s expensive pants. 

“Now,” she cries out as he thrusts against her again, rubbing at her clit almost painfully. He needs his pants off. The material is doing nothing for her. She can feel her walls clenching with want, desperate to have him inside of her. 

Oliver rolls off of her long enough to pull his pants and underwear off of his body. The cool air has her reaching out for him to cover her again. When he rolls back onto her and she feels his length against her entrance, she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out loud enough to wake the entire house. 

He buries his face in her neck and she can feel his moan against her and she imagines he’s doing the same thing. Trying to remain somewhat in control so that they don’t have his family rushing in her thinking he’s being attacked. 

“Condom,” he says, pointing at his nightstand, as if she doesn’t already know where he keeps them. Where he has kept them since his dad first gave them to him in 8th grade. He may never have used them with her before, despite her wishing he would, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t know where he kept them.

She reaches out for the drawer, accidentally knocking a bottle of water off of the nightstand as Oliver sucks at her pulse point and she looses focus. 

She glances over to look at what she’s doing and notices he still has the framed photo of them from the Fourth of July Festival on his nightstand. The one from the summer before 8th grade where she’s smiling at the camera and he’s smiling at her like she’s his entire world. It catches her breath. She doesn’t know how she’d missed it before. She has the same photo hanging up in her living room. She passes by it every day. Oliver really had loved her, even then, and she hadn’t seen it. 

The photo is creased and torn, like it had been in his pocket at some point and there are obvious signs of water damage. 

She reaches out to trace his face in the frame and he stops sucking at her neck long enough to look up. 

“I had that with me on the island,” he admits. 

“What?” 

She hears him, but she doesn’t process the words. 

“I kept it with me,” he says. 

“You were shipwrecked on a deserted island, lost everything, and yet you managed to keep this photo of us?” she asks in disbelief. 

“It’s my favorite picture of you,” he says. “Now… condom.” 

He rubs against her entrance causing her to cry out. 

Yes. He’s right. There will be time for conversation later. Right now, she needs a condom so that he can fuck her like she desperately needs. 

She opens the drawer and feels around until her fingers land on a foil wrapper. 

“Please tell me these aren’t expired,” she says as she hands it to him. 

“Do condoms expire?” he asks. 

“You’re joking,” she says. “Condoms expire. Though I guess you wouldn’t ever have to worry about that since you used to go through a box a week.” 

She doesn’t mean it like it sounds. She really never judged Oliver for his sexual promiscuity. She might not have liked the girls he slept with, but she never judged how often he had sex. Hell, it’s not like she can blame him when gorgeous women throw themselves at him. And she can hardly blame the women he got into bed with. He’s charming as hell and sex on a stick. 

“Uh…” Oliver looks at her sheepishly and she knows that the condoms in his drawer are at least five years old and in no way good any longer. That fact makes her oddly relieved. She doesn’t want to think about Oliver getting back from the island and immediately buying condoms so he could have sex with random women. 

She rolls out of bed. 

“No,” Oliver cries out, reaching out to her. 

“You’re lucky our best friend is a pervert who’s always trying to get me laid,” she mutters as she grabs her purse. 

“Why does Tommy keep condoms in your purse?” he asks darkly. 

“Because Tommy is a perpetual wingman,” she says, pulling two different size condoms out of her purse and walking back over to the side of the bed. “Now I don’t want to presume… He’s given me large and xtra large. You felt big but… I should really quit while I'm ahead here. I never thought I would be asking my best friend what his penis size was. I just always assumed you would know and it wouldn't be a problem.”

Felicity’s head catches up with her mouth and she immediately realizes her mistake. Damn her babbling, always getting her into trouble. 

“Not that I thought about it. Your size, I mean,” she says, sure that she’s blushing all the way to her toes. “I thought about this before but never in this much detail and it's so much better than I imagined but I don't know where to go from here and I am so sorry I have totally ruined the mood, haven't I?” she asks awkwardly, both wrappers in her hands.

Oliver plucks one from her hand, and cradles her face with his hands, kissing her gently. Or, more likely, kissing her quiet. She’s sure she’s embarrassed him as much as she’s embarrassed herself. 

“It's you,” he says, smiling at her adorably. “You could never ruin anything.”

Oliver opens the foil wrapper with his teeth and begins rolling it down his dick, but she slaps his hand out of the way so she can put it on herself, loving the way he moans at her touch. She’s never been one for power play, but the way he reacts to her turns her on. 

She bites her lip as she wraps her hands around him once the condom is on and starts working him, twisting her wrist at the top and drawing the most delicious sounds out of him. She gets back onto the bed, but doesn’t allow him to pull her up to meet her lips. No, she has other plans. She moves down the bed until her mouth is lined up with his stomach and leaves open mouth kisses below his belly button, the only part of him that isn’t marred by countless scars. 

“Felicity,” he cries out, attempting to pull her up, but she doesn’t let him. Instead, she moves her mouth downward, following the sexy trail of hair until she’s kissing at the base of his dick and he’s thrusting up, begging her for more. She licks along the length of him and revels in the way his hips lift up off of the bed, trying to chase her mouth. 

“Please,” he says, breathless. 

She takes him into her mouth, as deep as she can, wrapping her hand around the base as she does. 

“Felic—” he moans, unable to even form full words. She watches him as she begins working him over with her mouth, loving the way his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. 

She takes the tip of his dick into her mouth and swirls her tongue over the head; slowly bobbing her head up and down. She takes her time as Oliver clearly struggles to remain still. 

She twists her wrist as she moves up and down, trying to maximize the pleasure for him. He grabs at the headboard, then the sheets aimlessly, trying to avoid grabbing onto her hair. He’s trying to show restraint, but restraint isn’t for people who have waited 16 years for this moment. 

She reaches up and grabs onto his wrist, placing his hand at the back of her neck. He takes the hint and begins thrusting up into her mouth, moaning loudly. 

“Fuck!” he cries out as she swirls her tongue around the head before letting go with a sinful popping sound. She licks at the ridge of his cock before using the tip of her tongue to trace a vein back down to his base. She mouths at the base and Oliver’s hips start moving aimlessly while he whines — literally whines — below her. 

“Felicity, please, yes, please, more,” he cries out, his voice high and breathless. He’s so wanton. She wonders if he’s always like this in bed or if it’s the result of 5 years of island induced celibacy. 

She’s assuming he’s been celibate. Tommy had made some pointed comments to her about Oliver going 1,839 days without sex. But who knows. Knowing Oliver, he’d managed to find the one female prisoner on the island and slept with her. 

She licks at his sac and smiles as his hips lift off of the bed and his grip at the back of her neck tightens. 

“Please,” he begs. 

She takes pity on him and wraps her mouth back around him. She takes him as deep as she can, doing her best to breathe through her nose so she doesn’t gag on him. His breathing intensifies and she can feel him starting to lose control as his hips thrust up without rhythm and he starts muttering incoherently. 

“Yes... Fuck... There... Yes... God... Right there… Love... Beautiful... Never... Fuck...” 

He continues to sing her praises in various languages that she doesn’t understand, and she can tell by the way his nails dig into the back of her neck that he’s close. He tries to pull her off, but she doesn’t move. He’s got a condom on, so she’s not concerned about the mess. The only concern she has is Oliver’s pleasure. 

She lets go of his dick and takes him even deeper and reaches out to massage his balls. 

She doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but the deep growl of his voice tells her that whatever it is, it’s good. 

His hands find their way into her hair and right as she’s pulling off of him, his hips lift off of the mattress and he begins to come with a very loud, “Fuck!” 

She wraps her mouth back over him as he continues to thrust up into her and works him over until he’s a giant pile of goo beneath her. She’s has to say, watching him completely lose it gives her quite the confidence boost. She gently removes the condom from him and tosses it into the garbage can next to his bed. She moves up his body and kisses him gently, loving the way his lips chase after her, even as she pulls away. 

“I love you,” she tells him, running her hands up and down his chest as he struggles to catch his breath. 

Felicity opens and closes her mouth trying to work out the tightness that has formed there. He’s a lot bigger than she expected. Not that she’s thought about his size often... She bites her lip in anticipation as she thinks about how amazing he’ll feel pounding into her. She’s had her fair share of sex in her life, but it’s never been anything to write home about. Nothing life changing. But she knows, somehow, that it’s going to be different with Oliver. With him, she’ll understand what all of the fuss is about. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, rolling over so that he’s laying on top of her. “Everything.” 

She rolls her eyes. He’s just saying that because she’s just given him a wonderful orgasm. He probably says that to all the girls he beds. 

He kisses at her neck as he grabs onto her knees and pulls her legs wider apart.   
“Oliver?” 

His fingers find their way to her entrance and she can’t help but moan as he teases her, rubbing gently up and down before moving up to her clit. 

“Oh–” she gasps as his other hand comes around and his fingers start circling her entrance, working her over with both hands.

She’s soaked. She cringes at the sounds her body makes as his fingers move over her. 

“So fucking hot,” he says, moving down her body until he’s at her entrance. His tongue comes out to taste her. “So wet.” 

His mouth is warm and his fingers are strong, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to handle any of this. 

Felicity grabs onto the sheets and holds on tight as his mouth moves to suck on her clit and his finger enters her slowly, pumping in and out, testing how tight she is. 

She opens her legs wider for him, her eyes transfixed on him devouring her. He’s glancing up at her and she can just barely see his eyes as he watches her from between her thighs. She can see enough to know he’s exactly where he wants to be. He looks happy, and that makes her happy, because this? What he’s doing? He can do that as often as he likes. She has zero complaints about what he’s doing. He gets a perfect 10. 

“Yes,” she cries out as he slides another finger into her. “More.” 

“You’re so tight,” he mutters as he scissors his fingers to stretch her out before adding a third finger. 

His tongue flicks at her clit quickly and she moans loudly, causing him to laugh. The low rumble sends a delicious vibration through her core. 

“Again,” she says, reaching out for him aimlessly and patting his head to get his attention once she locates him. “That. More. Again.” 

Oliver chuckles again. “I love you,” he says before he wraps his lips around her clit and starts humming. 

A wave of nerves shoot through her entire body and she starts trembling with need. Her orgasm starts to build and it’s only a matter of time before it hits. He pumps his fingers in and out of her, thrusting into her nice and deep, just the way she likes it. The way she always tries to do herself but her fingers aren’t long enough. Oliver’s fingers are perfect. 

“So fucking perfect,” she mumbles as she raises her hips to chase his fingers as he pulls out of her. 

“No,” she whines, reaching out to try and grab his hands, but he’s too far away. 

“What are you — Shit!” she cries out as his tongue enters her and begins licking at her walls. 

She sits up on her elbows so that she can get better leverage to grind down against his tongue as it thrusts into her. 

“Yes! There! Yes!” she cries out.

It’s not that she’s never had anyone eat her out before. She’s experienced it once or twice, but never with somebody that actually knew what they were doing and Oliver should get a masters degree in eating a girl out. He has her seeing stars in less than a minute. She tries to gain traction by digging her heals into the bed, but her legs keep on slipping as he licks at her core, drinking her in. 

“Oliver—” she moans loudly as he rubs at her clit. 

At this rate, she isn’t going to last another minute and she wants to. She wants to feel him inside of her. 

She reaches down to pull at his hair until he finally lets go of her with an embarrassingly loud slurp. 

“Inside, now,” she says, barely able to form words as she struggles to breathe. 

He uses his super quick vigilante-ninja skills to hop out of bed and grab another condom from her purse and he’s back in a matter of seconds. 

“What do you need that many condoms in your purse for?” he asks as his fingers fumble trying to get the foil package open, but she can’t offer any help. She’s too fargone to be of any use to anyone. Heck, she can feel herself thrusting up into open air and there is nothing she can do to stop it. After a few tries, he manages to tear the package open and slip the condom on. 

When he crawls back over her and lines himself up at her entrance, she breathes in a sigh of relief. This is it. The moment. They are finally going to be together as she’s always wanted. 

He rests his forehead against hers and looks into her eyes, asking for her permission to breach this one last boundary between them. 

“Please,” she whispers. 

Oliver pushes into her slowly and she has to close her eyes against the initial pain. Even with all the preparation he’s done to make sure she’s ready, he’s still extremely large inside of her, and it has been too long since she had any type of sex, so she is impossibly tight. She tries her best to relax, but there’s only so much she can do. She just tries to breathe through it. 

“Love you,” he says through gritted teeth. She can tell that it’s taking everything in him not to thrust into her with total abandon. 

She takes several deep breaths in and out and he pauses once he is seated deep inside of her, kissing her on the forehead, then the cheek, then finally, her lips. 

She opens her eyes and he brushes her cheek with the back of his fingertips tenderly. He’s silently asking if she’s okay. She takes a few more breaths before nodding, kissing his fingers softly. She’s never been more perfect in her life. This is everything — _everything_ — she’s ever wanted. 

He stays there for several moments, waiting for her to adjust to him. When she feels like she can breathe again, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, thrusting her hips against him, willing him to move. 

He pulls back to stare into her eyes, wearing a goofy grin and she wonders if she doesn’t have one to match. After all, this moment is perfect. Never in a million years did she expect they’d ever get to this point, but here they are. 

Her legs move around his waist and she uses that leverage to thrust up into him. If he doesn’t start moving soon, she may spontaneously combust. 

He shakes his head once, then begins thrusting into her. After that, reality blurs. Time stops and the world shrinks down to just the two of them. He sucks on her neck as she scratches at his back, trying to stop herself from floating to the ceiling.

He braces his arms on either side of her head and digs his knees into the mattress to get the proper leverage. He starts hitting her at the perfect angle and she loses all ability to think as he thrusts into her at full strength. She has to remind herself to breathe. 

Her hands move to brace against the headboard and she grinds against him. Chasing her orgasm. 

“Felicity,” he pants out her name, making it several more syllables than normal. She can tell he’s close. She’s not surprised given how tight she is and how long he’d had to wait for her to adjust to his size. 

“Let go,” she says.

“No,” he argues, his voice high and needy. “Want... last. Want forever.” 

“Again,” she says, trying to form a coherent sentence but it’s difficult when he’s pounding into her and hitting her G-spot repeatedly. She can barely see straight. 

“Can do again,” she says. “And again. And again. So much sex. All of the sex. Forever having sex. We won’t leave the bed.” 

“Yes,” he says, burying his face in her chest and mouthing at her breasts. “Never want to stop.” 

Felicity nods and nearly screams when his pace increases and he manages to thrust into her even deeper than before. 

“Fuck!” she calls out and he quickly covers her next scream up with a kiss. 

It’s probably a good idea. She doesn’t need the entire house bursting in, interrupting her just as they are about to come together. This moment has been a long time coming and they don’t need anything messing it up. They’ve had enough roadblocks, thank you very much. 

He bites at her lower lip and she digs her nails into his ass. 

“I love you,” she says against his lips and he finally lets go. His back arches and his lips leave hers as he gasps. Her walls clench down on him and he mumbles something in another language that sounds positively filthy. 

His hand reaches down to rub at her clit as he says, “Come with me.” 

His lips find her nipple and barely two seconds later her vision whites out and her brain short circuits. 

When she comes to, she is laying on top of Oliver and he’s running one hand up and down her back and another through her hair. Words still feel beyond her, so she kisses his chest instead as a thank you. She’s not entirely sure how long she’s been out of it, but considering she doesn’t feel sticky and gross down there like she usually does after sex, it’s probably been awhile. He’s had enough time to clean them both up. 

She turns her head so that she can look up at him, but his face is blurry. 

Curious. She doesn’t remember when she took off her glasses, but they’re gone now. Had they been on during sex? 

She debates the importance of sight. She wants to be able to look at him properly, but she also can’t imagine moving. She’s boneless. Is it possible for sex to be so hot that it melts bone? Because she feels like a puddle of goo right now. 

She snuggles deeper into his chest and closes her eyes. Since she can’t see, she focuses on how he feels underneath her. For as hard as his chest is, it makes a surprisingly comfortable pillow. He’s pulled his old chenille throw blanket over them. The navy one that she’s always been obsessed with because it’s impossibly soft. She could die right here and be happy. 

Except she doesn’t want to die, because she wants to stay in this moment forever. As amazing as the sex had been, and it had been amazing — The toe-curling, brag to all of your girlfriends, dream about it when you’re alone with your vibrator kind of amazing sex that legends are made out of good — it’s this moment that she cherishes the most. 

It reminds her of all those lazy Sundays where they lay on the couch together cuddling and watching movies. Just laying together, not needing to talk, but knowing that he was there for her… Those were the moments she’s missed the most over the past 5 years. And this? Snuggling against Oliver while naked? It’s an upgraded version of that. It’s the Taj Mahal of cuddling. 

“I imagined… God, I thought I knew what being with you would feel like,” he says. “I never… fuck, Felicity, that was.. You… You’re remarkable.” 

Felicity smiles against his skin at the compliment. “Thank you for remarking on it.” 

She places a kiss over his heart before pushing up onto her elbows to look for her glasses. 

It would be a lot easier to find her glasses, however, if she could actually see. She squints her eyes and scans the room. Oliver taps her shoulder. When she looks up at him, he gently places her glasses on her face. 

“Better?” he asks. 

She scoots up his body until she’s close enough to kiss.

“Much.” 

His fingers fist in her hair as she kisses him tenderly. They spend several minutes making out, neither of them pushing for more. The desperate need has been sated, so now they can just enjoy. 

“You taste like chocolate,” he says with a smile once she pulls away and rests her head against his shoulder. “I always figured you’d taste like coffee… or wine.” 

“Mmmm,” she moans. “Wine sounds delicious. I’d ask you to go get me some from downstairs, but I don’t want you to move.” 

“I probably still have a bottle or two stashed up here somewhere. My mom said they didn’t touch anything while I was away,” he says. 

Felicity sits up in bed, pulling the blanket with her as she goes. 

“Where would you have kept it?” she asks, her eyes scanning the room. The last time she was in his room, they were in 8th grade and wine wasn’t exactly Oliver’s style. He had only just started drinking the year before and pretty much stuck to beer. 

Oliver rolls out of bed, not bothering to cover himself up, and for that she’s grateful. It gives her the chance to watch him in all of his toned glory. He truly is a sight to behold. Felicity’s never thought that naked men were that attractive. While rock hard abs and a nice ass will get her worked up, the second boxers come off it’s for function not for aesthetics. But Oliver? He’s sexy. Every inch of him is beautiful. And he’s all hers. 

God. How on Earth did she get to be so lucky? 

He moves to his desk and opens the bottom drawer, smiling at what he finds. He reaches in and pulls out a bottle of red. 

“Yes,” she says, pumping her fist at the discovery. 

“It’s a cab, too,” he says. “Your favorite.” 

He takes a corkscrew out of the top drawer and opens the bottle. 

“Do I want to know who that bottle was originally intended for?” she asks. 

“Probably not,” he says sheepishly. “Though if I had known I had a chance in hell with you back then, I wouldn't have wasted my time with anyone else.” 

Oliver walks back over the bed and climbs in, sitting down next to her. 

“We wasted so much time, didn’t we?” she asks with a frown. 

Oliver sighs. “At least we’re here now.” 

He hands her the open bottle of wine. “Sorry, I don’t have any glasses.” 

“It’s like college all over again,” she says with a smile. She smells the bottle, making sure the wine isn’t corked. When she’s satisfied that it’s still good, she takes a swig and passes it to him. 

After he takes a swig of his own, he settles back against the headboard and pulls her into his arms until she’s resting against his chest. 

“You never answered my question,” he says, nuzzling behind her ear. 

“What question was that?” 

“What you need that many condoms for?” His voice sounds grumpy. LIke he’s imagining her going out and having sex every single night. It makes her laugh. 

“I told you, Tommy is a perpetual wingman,” she says. When Oliver doesn’t respond, she adds, “My purse is full of condoms for a reason, Oliver. I haven’t really used them.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief that makes her roll her eyes. He’s always been so annoyed at the thought of her with any other man. Looking back, she can see now that it was jealousy. He wanted her and didn’t think he could have her. 

“Instead of getting annoyed at him, you should send Tommy a thank you note,” Felicity says. “If it weren’t for those condoms we wouldn’t have been able to have sex tonight.” 

“I would have sent somebody out,” he says, causing her to laugh. 

She has no doubt that he would have done just that. She’s glad they didn’t have to wake up one of the staff members to make a condom run. She would never have been able to look them in the eyes again. 

They settle into silence, passing the wine back and forth between them, both of them lost in their own thoughts. 

She still can’t believe this is happening. When she was younger, she didn’t think any boys would ever look her way, let alone Oliver. Then she moved to Vegas and the distance pretty much sealed their fate. It didn’t matter that she finally started losing the baby fat in her face and puberty eventually kicked in, Oliver was too far away to ever be an option. By college, she had Cooper and Oliver had started his toxic back and forth with Laurel. She didn’t stand a chance. The moment she realized she did, that they could actually be together, fate stepped in and the Gambit was lost at sea. 

The fact that Oliver came home was a miracle. She didn’t dare ask for more. But more she got. Oliver is here with her. She’s in his bed. The bed that they used to stay up late talking for hours on. It was on this bed that he gave her that Valentine’s Day present and she realized she was in love with him. It seems only fitting that they are back here again. 

For such a monumental moment, it’s surprisingly normal. As she lies against him and he traces designs into her stomach, it feels like they’ve been doing this for years. There’s no awkwardness between them. She isn’t anxious like she’s been with other men the first time they slept together. It helps that Oliver and her have years of shared history. He’s her best friend. The fact that they are now sleeping together doesn’t change that. 

Oliver brushes her hair over her shoulder and kisses at her exposed neck. “You know, this was a million times better than the first kiss,” he says. 

“Wasn’t your first kiss with McKenna Hall?” she asks, sipping at the wine, wanting to make it last since the bottle is almost empty now.

“Spin the bottle kisses don’t count,” he says, taking the bottle from her. 

“Well somebody should go back in time and let your seventh grade self know that before you break Alex Holder’s nose,” she says with a laugh, thinking back to Annabelle Brodeur’s 13th birthday party where she’d played Spin the Bottle for the first time and Oliver had lost his shit thinking that Alex had gotten a little too generous with his use of tongue. 

“Yeah, well the little shit deserved it,” Oliver grumbles, tightening his grip around her possessively, as if Alex is going to show up at any moment to try and steal her away.

“I’m pretty sure he had plastic surgery because his nose looking a lot less crooked these days.” 

She’d seen Alex at Oliver’s welcome back party and noticed his nose definitely looked straighter than it used to. She’s 100% certain that Alex’s crooked nose was the reason that no boy attempted to kiss her again until she moved to Vegas. The boys in their class were too nervous that Oliver would deck them, too. 

God, she was naive. Oliver had been jealous, she was just too stupid to see it. She wrote it off as him being overprotective. Like a brother. She never imagined he could possibly feel for her what she felt for him. 

“A problem he wouldn’t have if he didn’t go around molesting girls,” Oliver says, causing her to roll her eyes. Alex had hardly molested her. In fact, he’d been a pretty decent first kiss, until Oliver had pulled him off of her. “But that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about our first kiss.” 

Felicity glances back over her shoulder at him, curious what he’s talking about. They’d had their first kiss tonight, down in the Arrow Cave. 

Yes, she’s decided they are going to call it the Arrow Cave. Bunker sounds too militant and the Hood is an awful name for a vigilante. The Arrow is much cooler. Much more fitting for a hero. 

“You don’t remember,” Oliver says, passing back the bottle. “I’m not surprised. You were pretty drunk. Drunker than I’ve ever seen you.” 

What is he talking about? 

If she had kissed Oliver, she would remember that. Felicity has been in love with Oliver since middle school. If she had kissed him, she would know. Right? 

She thinks back to all the times they’ve been drunk together. There are quite a lot, but there’s only one time she’s ever been drunk enough with him to black out and not remember the night. 

She’d woken up with a feeling that they’d kissed but she’d been certain that she made that up. 

“That night I met you at Royale?” she asks. 

“You kissed me at the karaoke bar,” he tells her, running his hands up and down her arms, sending a twinge to her center that she ignores. They cannot possibly have sex again. For one, she’s too sore. More importantly, she needs to know what he’s talking about. 

“We did karaoke?” she asks, trying to piece together what little she remembers of that night. Not only was she drunker than a sorority girl during pledge week, but it was also 5 years ago. 

“You made me sing Hanson with you,” he says, cringing. 

“Oh like you don't know every word to MMMBop,” she says, trying to cover up how genuinely upset she is that she can’t remember kissing Oliver. 

He doesn’t respond, which confirms it. Oliver has always been a closeted Top 40 fan. 

“Did I really kiss you?” she asks, twisting the now empty bottle in her hand. 

Oliver kisses her on the lips tenderly. “I promise the bunker kiss was a much better kiss. I’d rather you remember that one.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “I thought I imagined that.” 

“Because you were drunk and I assumed you didn’t mean it like I wanted you to,” he says, holding her close against his chest. “You were so upset over Cooper that I assumed that you were just using me as an easy rebound.” 

“Oliver,” she whispers, feeling guilty that she let him believe she would ever use him that way. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re naked in my bed,” he says pointedly. “I’m not complaining about whatever road we had to take to get us here.” 

Felicity takes a long swig from the bottle before putting it on the night stand. She then turns around and straddles his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“I love you so much,” she says. “I need you to know that.” 

“I do,” he says with a smile. “I don’t understand how, but I do.” 

“Good,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, long and slow. Her tongue pushes into his mouth gently and she moans when his own meets hers. 

His nails trace up and down her back, sending shivers over her body. She could get used to this. She’d happily spend the rest of her life kissing Oliver. He makes her feel safe and loved. The fact that he can’t see why she would love him back is absurd. 

“You’ve always been my hero,” she says. “Since that first day of school. Protected me from the world. Let me cry on your shoulder. Is it really that strange that I fell in love with you?” 

“I just know you’re too good for me,” he says. “Always have been.” 

“Don’t let your mom hear you say that.” 

“Screw my mom,” Oliver says. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I would have been a spoiled prick without you there to knock me down a peg or two whenever I got to full of myself.” 

“And you made sure I got out of my head and lived in the moment,” she says. “We’re good for each other.” 

“The best,” he says, pulling her to him so he can resume kissing her. 

Her walls start to twitch, wanting him to fill her again. She didn’t think it was possible to want sex again, but then again, she’s never had sex with anyone that she’s waited for as long as she’s waited for Oliver. Everything about him is different and new for her. 

She grinds down against him, eliciting a growl from him. He flips them around so that she’s laying back on the bed and he’s hovering over her. 

“Are you starting to see the merits of a bed?” he teases, rubbing his growing erection against her entrance, causing her to moan. 

Felicity nods. “Beds. Beds are good…” she says, grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him deeply. 

He pulls away from her when she wraps her legs around him and starts grinding against him. He shakes his head. 

“No, this time we’re going to do it nice and slow,” he says.

She’s not sure if she likes the smirk he’s wearing. It’s too mischievous and she’s sure that means all kinds of trouble for her. Oliver braces himself on one arm as his other hand runs up and down her sides slowly, making her belly flutter with need. She bites her lip and he mutters something in another language. 

“What is that?” she asks, realizing that she may have a thing for languages, because Oliver has spoken in different languages a few times now and it’s incredibly sexy. 

“Russian,” he says, distractedly as he stares at her mouth. “Do you know how many times I used to get hard watching you bite your lip like that in class. It was torture.” 

She laughs, picturing Oliver in those uncomfortable desks, squirming as he tries to hide his erection from Mrs. Harrington. If she had known back then that she had the power to turn him on, she would have had a lot more fun in their English class. 

“Like this?” she asks, biting her lip again, causing him to grumble and nip at her neck playfully. 

“Exactly like that,” he says. “You were the death of me.” 

“Good,” she says. “Serves you right. I can’t tell you how much I dreaded coming over to your house in the summer. You lived in nothing but a bathing suit.” 

Oliver lets out a full belly laugh at that. “I was trying to impress you.” 

“I was impressed,” she says, running her fingers up and down his chest. “I just couldn’t show you. I thought you were in love with McKenna.” 

“I was in love with _you_ ,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Tommy told me if I talked about McKenna enough that it would make you jealous.” 

“Tommy is an idiot,” she says. 

“Agreed.” 

Oliver’s fingers move over her stomach and she sucks in, hoping he doesn’t notice the extra layer of fat she has there. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, seriously, looking at her intensely, like he’s reading her mind. “Do you know how many girls I’ve been with where I was terrified that they were going to snap in half? I felt like I needed to force feed some of them. You’ve got curves. Fuck… you’ve got curves. That dress you had on at my party? I thought I was going to lose my mind trying not to touch you.” 

Felicity would have thought he was just saying that to help her feel less self conscious, but the way he grabs at her ass and grows harder against her tells her that he’s being completely honest. 

He lowers his head to mouth at her breast as his hand finds its way between her legs. She widens her legs to give him easier access, but he purposefully avoids touching her where she wants him. Instead, he uses featherlight touches against the inside of her thighs and her hipbone. He traces around her entrance. He reaches back and grabs her ass. But he doesn’t touch her. 

She whines, not caring about how needy she sounds or that she’s already gotten off twice tonight and shouldn’t be so desperate. She grows wetter and wetter and she starts to drip down her thighs. These sheets are definitely going to need to be washed… possibly trashed all together. There’s no way they haven’t stained them. 

Oliver coats his fingers with her juices before raising them to his lips and licking his fingers, humming in delight. 

“So good,” he says, licking his fingers repeatedly as her stomach boils with need. She wants that tongue on her again. She wants his fingers thrusting inside of her. She wants his dick filling her. She just wants something. Anything. She ruts against him, feeling his cock slide easily against her folds, making them both cry out in pleasure. 

“Inside,” she says, reaching down to grab his dick and position it at her entrance. She’s about to lift her hips up so he can sink into her when she realizes she’s forgotten a pretty important step. 

“Condom,” she says, pushing at his shoulder to get up, but he doesn’t move. 

Instead, he reaches under the pillow and pulls out a foil wrapper. She looks at him in shock. He came prepared. When did he put that there? He really is a ninja. A magic sex ninja with the best ideas. Now he doesn’t have to get up. 

“I told you, I had plans,” he says, handing her the condom. She lets go of his dick long enough to take the package and rip it open, then rolls it over him, enjoying the way he hisses at her touch. 

Felicity repositions him so he’s at her opening again, but he pulls his hips away the moment she raises hers up. 

“What?” she asks, curious why he isn’t already deep inside of her. She’s ready. She’s still stretched from before and his teasing has made sure she’s well lubricated. 

“I told you we are going to do this slow,” he says. No. Commands. He commands and it’s sexy as hell. 

It shouldn't be sexy. Her inner feminist should rebel against him telling her want to do, but why would she complain about something that has her this horny? 

“Slow,” she says. “Yes.” 

“Can I trust you not to rush?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She shakes her head. “No rushing.” 

“I will restrain you if I have to,” he says, his voice deep and gravely.

Yet another thing that shouldn’t be sexy at all and is. Fuck. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe she does have a handcuff fetish. 

“No rushing,” she says, tugging on his cock so that he’ll just push into her already. “Promise.” 

Oliver slowly thrusts into her, and this time she’s much more prepared for his length. She doesn’t need any time to adjust to him at all. When he’s fully seated inside of her, she moves her hips to encourage him to start thrusting. He does. 

He’d said he wanted to go slow, but this is torturous. It’s a snail's pace as he pulls completely out of her again and pushes back in. As he thrusts into her slowly, his forehead rests against her own and he stares into her eyes with an intensity that leaves her breathless.

“You could go a little faster,” she suggests, her voice breathy and high. “I wouldn’t complain—”

He silences her with a kiss. His tongue moves at the same tantalizingly slow pace as his hips. At this rate, this is going to take years. Which is perhaps his goal. He’s dragging this out. Making it last. As if they couldn’t do this over and over again for the rest of their lives. 

He’s hitting her just shy of her G-Spot and he knows it. He’s enjoying teasing her. It’s cruel. 

She pulls her lips off of him to complain. “Oliver…” 

“Shhh,” he says. “Patience.” 

He kisses her again and this time, his hand makes its way to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers before switching to the other breast. Fire shoots through her body, but none of it is enough. It’s too little, too slow, she’s never going to get off this way. 

“You’re being mean,” she whines. 

He ignores her, instead, moving his lips to suck on her ear. She wraps her legs around him and tries to get him to speed up, just a little bit, but his hands reach around to remove them, slapping her thighs lightly as punishment. 

“Oliver…” 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his breath hot against her ear. 

“Yes,” she answers instantly, not needing to think about it. She trusts Oliver with everything. She always has. 

Her immediate response has him whimpering and kissing at her neck sloppily. 

“Oliver?” Felicity doesn’t know what she said, but the way his hands wrap around her and pull her close, pausing inside of her, she knows it had to be important. 

“Stop rushing,” he says, his voice suspiciously wet. “Be in the moment.” 

Right. Be in the moment, she thinks. Easy for him to say. His dick in probably in heaven right now, deep inside of her. She’s never going to be able to get off like this. But she trusts him, and if this is how he wants her, she’ll give it to him. She’ll give him anything he wants. 

It's why she only lets out a small noise of protest when he pulls out completely and grabs at her ass again to roll her onto her stomach.

“What are you doing?” she complains 

He doesn’t answer. He drapes himself over her, brushing her hair off her neck before dropping kisses on the newly uncovered skin.

“You’re beautiful, Felicity,” he says right next to her ear. He sucks on her piercing for a moment before licking down to her neck, going for his favorite spot. The spot he used to always nuzzle into whenever they hugged that would make her laugh. 

Fuck does it feel anything close to funny now. No. His tongue against that spot is so much better. 

“More,” she says, trying to reach around for his dick, but he stays out of reach and pushes her hand away. 

He places several soft kisses to her neck. 

“You are so perfect,” he says before opening his mouth to suck on the skin there, causing her to brush back against him. His erection presses into her ass and his teeth bite down on her as his grip on her hips tightens hard enough to leave bruises. She wants more. She does it again, earning her a playful smack to the ass. 

“You’re distracting me,” he grumbles. “Stop.” 

“Make me,” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. He meets her in tender kiss that she tries to turn dirty but he won’t let her. 

He resumes kissing the back of her neck, each of her shoulder blades, behind her ear, everywhere his mouth can reach. His arms cover hers and push her into the bed as he buries himself deep inside of her and finally — _oh dear God, finally_ — thrusts in deep enough to hit her in the spot that makes her toes curl.

“Yes,” she says, moving her hips to meet his. 

The comforter bunches up under her and like a miraculous twist of fate begins rubbing at her clit, and thank god, because if Oliver had his way she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near this level of pleasure. She purposefully rubs herself against the mattress as she continues to meet his every thrust, moaning at the dual stimulation. 

“So smart,” he licks up her spine and kisses the back of her neck again. 

“Love you so much,” he says, grasping onto her hands and entwining their fingers. 

“Love your skin, so soft,” he says, sucking a mark into her shoulder. 

“Love your smile,” he says. “Your laugh.” 

“Yes,” she cries out. “There. Harder. Please. Yes.” 

“Love your mouth.” He catches her in a kiss that is incredibly sweet and tender, and in no way matches the way his hips have finally started pounding into her. 

“Yes! Thank you! Love you! Fuck!” she cries out, feeling her orgasm building. “Harder!” 

“Your dirty mouth,” he says. “I swear to god every time you make one of your innuendos, I have to jerk off.” 

“Oliver!” 

Between the words he’s saying into her ear, the way he’s hitting her in just the right spot, his weight over her, pinning her to the bed, the comforter continuing to rub her… It’s perfect. Her stomach tenses and she starts breathing so quickly she’s seeing spots. 

Then, just like that, he pulls out of her and turns her over, sitting back on his heels to watch her. 

“No,” she whines, reaching out for him with grabby hands, but he doesn’t come to her. 

God. She knows Oliver has the ability to be an asshole, but why would he stop when she was so close?

“Come back,” she says, rubbing her thighs together in an effort to chase the orgasm he interrupted. 

“I love those tight black pants you used to wear,” he says, running his hands up and down her shins, giving her goosebumps. “They hugged your ass in the most delicious way. And now you wear those short dresses that are designed to drive me insane.” 

“You’re driving me insane,” she cries out, but he ignores her. “Oliver, please.” 

When he makes no move, she takes matters into her own hands and reaches down to start rubbing at herself.

“Fucking hell—” He makes a choking sound and grabs her wrist, pulling it away from her body as he glares at her. “It’s like you were designed to torture me.” 

Her torture him. That’s rich when he’s the one intent on making her suffer for no good reason. 

He pulls each of her fingers into his mouth, one by one, moaning at the taste of her, making her cry with want. He then places both of her hands at the headboard. 

“Hold on,” he instructs her. 

She’s known Oliver a long time. She knows how to argue with him and get her way. She knows how to push his buttons. She knows how to bend his will of steel. But she also knows that there is no talking to him when he’s got that one specific look in his eyes, and he’s got it right now. Oliver may tease her for the rest of the night, but he’ll never do anything that truly makes her uncomfortable. She trusts him, so she complies, taking hold of the headboard. 

“Don’t let go.” His voice is deadly serious. She nods to let him know she understands the rules he’s just put into place. 

And fuck, does it turn her on. If it’s not her turn to touch, that means it’s Oliver’s. Having all of that hyper focus on her is promising and has her thighs pressing together to try and relieve some of the pressure that’s building. 

He places open mouth kisses to each of her wrists. 

“I love these hands,” he says. “Love feeling your fingers in my hair… Your hands at the back of my neck… Your arms around me…” 

His lips move to kiss at her ear, then her cheek, and finally her lips. He takes his time exploring her mouth like it’s the first time he’s tasted her, even though by now they had to have kissed hundreds of times tonight. She squeezes her thighs together, needing to find some release. He notices though, and pushes her legs apart. She sighs in relief. Him against her is a much better plan, except he doesn’t lay against her. He keeps his body just out her reach, which has to be hell on his muscles, but he’s barely reacting. 

The benefits of having sex with a ninja, she assumes. 

Although, she actually wouldn’t call this a benefit. Nor is ninja the right word for his Herculean body. Gladiator? She’ll go with gladiator. 

The thought alone of Oliver in one of those little outfits has her biting her lips against a groan. 

His lips move to her neck, her chest, her breasts… 

“I saw you once,” he says, licking at the valley between her breasts. “On the island. I was…” 

He pauses his actions and she tries to focus on his words. He was what? 

“Oliver?” 

“You told me to come home,” he says. “So I did.” 

She can’t help the tears that come to her eyes, trying to figure out what would have Oliver hallucinating her. Normally, she would say drugs. After all, Tommy hallucinated Oliver all the time while high. But she doubts he would be hesitant to tell her he was high, so that only leaves one other option. Pain. 

People in extreme pain hallucinate. 

“Love you,” she says again, feeling like she can never say it enough after everything he’s been through. He kisses her, pouring all of his love into the kiss until she feels it in her toes. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she whispers the words against his lips. 

“Thank you,” he says. When her hands reach out to cradle his face, it’s wet. He’s crying, but then again, so is she. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says, pulling him in for a tight hug. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” he says, holding her tight. “Thank you for not running away from me.” 

“Never,” she says, rubbing his back as he takes another shuddering breath before pulling away to look at her with a smile on his face. “I thought I told you not to let go.” 

“Extenuating circumstances,” she says with a shrug, wiping his tears away before putting her hands back on the headboard. “You may proceed.” 

Oliver laughs at that and the sound makes her heart melt. “Yes ma’am.” 

He licks around her nipple before bringing it into his mouth, causing her to moan. Instantly, the mood is back. 

“Please,” she whispers. She digs her heels into the mattress and lifts her hips up until they press against him, making him lose his precious control and he falls against her. 

“Felicity,” he growls, glaring at her playfully. “You aren’t playing fair.” 

“Fair?” she scoffs. “You won’t let me touch. I want you.” 

“You have me,” he says, kissing a path down her stomach as he scoots down the bed. 

“You have me,” he whispers again into her skin as he places open mouth kisses against her inner thighs. 

“Oh God,” she shudders. He’s going to use his tongue again. “Please.” 

She bites her lower lip in anticipation. She wants to reach out to touch. To hold his head in place. To pull at his hair… But he gave her instructions not to touch and she has a feeling he’ll prolong her torture if she does. 

No… not torture. That’s not the right word. She thinks about Oliver’s scars and the people that have hurt him. They’d tortured him. This isn’t that. This is just… worship. Oliver is worshiping her body, and no matter how long he makes her wait before she comes, she’ll take it happily. 

His fingers trace around her entrance as he sucks a mark into her hip bone. 

“Oliver…” She trembles. She feels desperate for his touch, which is something she doesn’t often experience. “Now,” she says, hating how her voice comes out so needy. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, lifting her leg so it’s over his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

She shakes her head. It’s not okay. He’s so close to where she wants him — _needs_ him — and he won’t give it to her. 

She whimpers and finally he takes pity on her. He licks at her entrance, causing her grip on the headboard to tighten as her head falls back in pleasure. His hands reach out to spread her open and he mouths at her. 

“Yes,” she pants, her breathing increasing. “There… Please…” 

“So gorgeous like this,” he says, pushing a finger into her. “So wet, just for me.” 

“Yours,” she says, using her leverage from the headboard to grind against his hand.

“Mine,” he says the word like it’s something precious that can be broken and needs to be cared for lightly.

He removes his finger and replaces it with his tongue, licking at her walls as he begins to trace around her clit. 

“Fuck,” she cries out. His mouth is warm and wet. His tongue thrusts into her, and it’s so good, but it’s not enough. “More,” she says. She needs him deeper. He removes his tongue and replaces it with his fingers, thrusting two into her this time as he mouths at her clit, and that’s exactly what she needed. 

“Yes…” she pants. “There. Yes. More. Harder.” 

She closes her eyes and focuses only on the pleasure he’s bringing her. He was made to do this. If it weren’t illegal, and she wasn’t so unwilling to share him, she’d tell him to do this professionally. He’d make bank. She’d certainly empty out her account in order to have his mouth on her everyday. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t need the money and she can have him now, whenever she wants him. He’s not going anywhere. It’s the two of them, together from now on. 

That thought sends a warm thrill through her that only intensifies the pleasure he’s currently bringing her. 

She pushes against his hand, trying to make him move faster as her stomach starts to tighten and her breathing increases. Her orgasm is right there beneath the surface and she won’t need much more before she — 

“No!” she cries out when he pulls away from her again and sits back on his knees, impossibly far away. 

“I don’t like this game,” she grumbles, which only makes him laugh. She tries to kick him and his smug smile, but he grabs her ankle and stops her, placing a kiss to her shin. 

“Trust me, you will,” he promises. Oliver’s never been one to break promises before. At least, he never breaks his promises to her, not if he can help it. 

“You’re being mean,” she says, sitting up in bed, whining at how the sheet moves against her. She’s trembling with need and her skin feels like it’s on fire. 

“You’ll thank me for it later,” he says, pulling her into his lap so her back is to him. He moves her hair over her shoulder and kisses her neck. She thinks this may be his new favorite spot. He’s kissed her there numerous times tonight. 

She knows he’s probably right, but at the moment, with the way her body is crying out to be touched, she has a hard time believing it. 

His hands reach around her and begin massaging her breasts. 

“Do you remember when I came to visit the summer after freshman year?” he asks, nuzzling into her neck. 

“Mmm,” she hums her answer and pushes back against him, causing him to hiss. 

“Not yet,” he says with a kiss to her neck before he resumes nuzzling into her. He’s smelling her neck, but she can’t imagine by this point any of her perfume is left. She probably smells like pure sex.

“I came to visit and your mom took us to the water park,” he says. 

“She saved up all summer for that,” Felicity says. 

His hand starts a tediously slow trail down her stomach. “I told her that you could pay for your own ticket, but she—” Felicity sucks in a sharp breath as his fingers reach her clit and begin rubbing. “Oh god. Yes.” 

“You had that purple bikini,” he says, placing a kiss to the top of her spine. “It was the first time I’d seen you in anything like that before. You always wore those one pieces back in middle school…” 

“My mom — ah, yes, there — my mom bought it for me,” she says. “Didn’t have the heart to… to tell her… no,” she explains, doing her best to form full sentences, but it’s growing hard. She was already so worked up before. Now that he’s touching her again, she can feel her orgasm right there, just out of reach. 

“Puberty had hit that year,” Oliver says. “And pictures didn’t do you justice…” 

He pauses long enough to take her hand and guide it to her entrance. “Want to watch,” he says. 

She’s too fargone to be embarrassed by this point. She starts rubbing at herself fast, then slow, using the pace that always brings her to the edge. She can feel Oliver studying her movements, memorizing what she likes. 

“You had curves for days,” he says. “Still do.” 

She works herself over, pushing three fingers inside of herself and using her thumb to rub at her clit. Her other hand is digging her nails into Oliver’s thigh as she rides herself. 

“That’s it. Right there. So sexy. Show me how you like it,” he whispers encouragements into her ear that just make her more worked up.

The pressure starts building and her stomach grows tighter. She lets go of his thigh to reach around her and pull on his neck, turning her head and guiding his mouth to hers. She kisses him hard and desperate as her thighs start to tremble with need. She’s so close. She can feel her walls clenching around her. Then—

“God damnit,” she cries out as Oliver pulls her hand away from herself. “I’m going… to… kill you…” she says, trying to catch her breath. 

“Breathe,” he instructs her. 

“You breathe,” she grumbles, grinding down on his thigh until his hands reach out to still her hips. He is such a fucking asshole. She feels like she’s going crazy. If she doesn’t come soon, she’s going to have some kind of permanent damage, she can feel it. She’s not sure it’s possible, but she’ll be the first. Oliver will make her the first person to literally die from withholding sex. 

“In, two three... Out, two three,” he says gently, moving her hands to her stomach so she can focus on her breathing. As if that’s going to do anything. She’s always hated yoga. 

“Breathe with me,” he says, kissing behind her neck. “In, two three... Out, two three.” 

“I hate you,” she says as her breathing starts to slow, but the pressure between her legs doesn’t diminish at all. “I’m never having sex with you again.” 

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, pushing his erection against her ass, causing them both to groan. 

“Don’t you want to take care of that?” she asks, looking at him innocently over her shoulder. He smirks at her. 

“I’ll take care of it soon enough.” 

She throws her head back against his shoulder and nearly cries. 

He guides her until she’s laying back down on the bed and her hands are on the headboard again. He then fingers her again. Her hand reaches out to touch, but he places it back on the headboard, warning her not to touch him if she wants him to keep going. She bites her lip. She never pictured Oliver to be so controlling in bed. He was always happy to let everyone do everything for him before the Gambit went down, so she assumed that went for his sexual activities as well. But he’s rather bossy. It would be entertaining if it wasn’t so obnoxious. 

“Oliver please,” she cries when he pulls away from her just as she’s about to come. Again. “How much longer?” she asks. And there are actual tears in her eyes. She’s never been so desperate to get off that she’s cried before, but here they are. 

He rolls them over so that she’s straddling him and smiles up at her. “You can touch,” he instructs. 

She lets go of the headboard and reaches out to run her hands up and down his chest. He grabs onto her hips and guides her until she can feel his dick pressing against her entrance. 

“Please,” she says, needing to feel him inside of her. Her legs are already trembling. 

“Ride me,” he says, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed gravel. It’s sexy as hell. 

She sinks down onto him and they both let out a sigh of relief, but that doesn't last long. Her body is so impatient with need that she can’t do this slow or sweet, or any of the other wonderful things he’d asked her for. He braces his heels on the bed and she leans back against his knees and starts grinding down on him. 

“So beautiful,” he says, reaching out for her hands and entwining their fingers. She squeezes him tight as she rides him, chasing that orgasm that he wouldn’t let her have. 

“Don’t stop,” she cries, tears streaming down her face at how much she needs to come. 

“No stopping,” he says, shushing her, rubbing the back of her hands with his thumb. His actions are much more relaxed and gentle than her own. She grinds down on him hard, making him hit that spot that has her seeing stars. She’s so close. She’s almost there. 

He sits up in bed and for a second, she’s positive she’s about to make her stop and she’s going to have to use her loud voice, but he just adjusts their angle. He lets go of her hands and wraps his arms around her so that they are close enough to kiss. His forehead rests against hers as he says, “Let go.” 

She can feel his hot breath against her ear. He may look calm and collected, but she can tell by his heavy breathing and tense muscles that it’s taking everything in him not to come with her. 

“Come for me,” he says, reaching around to rub at her clit. And that’s all it takes. 

She arches her back and starts coming, hard. She comes for what has to be several minutes as wave after wave hit her with barely a break in between. He’s still rubbing at her clit and she wants to push him away, but she can’t move. Eventually, she collapses against him and he rolls them over until she’s on her back. 

He continues to thrust into her, even though she’s basically useless at this point. She’s a giant pile of goo. She feels like she might disappear into the mattress. He’s breathing heavily and looks like he’s attempting to say something, but has lost the ability to speak. She knows the feeling. That orgasm was something else entirely. She didn’t know it was possible to orgasm that long, but then again, she’s never been brought to the edge that many times and denied what she wanted most. 

He grits his teeth as he pounds into her, hard and deep. His hips lose their rhythm. He’s close. The sounds he is making are animalistic. It’s the sexiest thing she’s ever heard. She wants to tell him to let go, but she can’t form words. So she reaches her arms around him and rubs his back, silently giving him permission to let go. 

His hand reaches down to rub at her clit and she starts crying. It’s too much. She can’t come again. She’s too sensitive, but his finger keeps rubbing at her and his mouth latches onto her neck and soon, they are both riding the wave of another orgasm. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles as he lays on top of her, catching his breath. 

“No, not again,” he pleads. 

She can’t help but laugh at that. He brought this on herself. But no. He’s right. Not again. 

She’s broken. She can’t move. She can’t feel her legs. She’s so sensitive she could cry. She actually did cry. But god, had it been glorious. She didn’t know it was even possible. Sure, Tommy had told her that he’d made a girl come for 15 minutes back in college, but she had assumed that was either his ego exaggerating or the girl faking it. Clearly Tommy and Oliver went to some special sex school to learn how to pleasure women because holy hell… that was something else. 

She may never move again. 

Oliver pulls out of her slowly, making them both groan. 

“No,” she grumbles, reaching out for him. 

He smiles down at her, removing his condom gently and tying it off before tossing it into the trash. He then lays back down on top of her. She hums her satisfaction and wraps her arm around him. 

“That was…” she searches for the right word to describe what just happened, and all she can think of is the word flying. She felt like she was flying as her orgasm hit her. Or like she was floating. “Magical.” 

Oliver kisses her chest, right over her heart which is still pounding as she struggles to come down. 

“Pretty sure that’s not what Tommy meant when he said I was smoked,” Oliver says. “But that’s all I can think of. Smoaked.” 

“My toes are numb,” she says. She attempts to wiggle them, but it sends a shooting pain up her leg as if they were asleep. 

He goes to roll off of her and she whines. “No. Warm.” 

He pulls her into him until her head is against his shoulder and reaches down to pull the blanket over them both. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you, too.” 

He kisses the top of her head and closes her eyes, settling in to sleep. She glances over his shoulder at the nightstand, shocked to see that it’s nearly 5am. They’ve been having sex all night long. She has to be at work in four hours. How on Earth is she supposed to be able to move? 

She’s going to need a shower and a change of clothes. She’ll need to brush her teeth and do something with her hair. She’ll need food. All kinds of things that require her to move. Fuck. She thinks she may have permanently melted into the mattress. 

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles, pulling her closer to him. 

“I have to leave soon,” she explains. “I have work,” 

Oliver rolls them over so that he’s on top of her, trapping her under his weight. “No work. Sleep.” 

Felicity can’t help but giggle at that. He sounds just like he used to whenever she would try to get him up early on a Sunday morning for some of Raisa’s chocolate chip pancakes. 

“Sleep,” he says again, nuzzling his cheek into her chest. “You’ve got time before you have to go.” 

“It’s already 5,” she tells him, wishing she could stay. They deserve a chance to wake up in each other’s arms. 

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking up to double check the clock himself. “Do you need a ride home?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “You drove my car here, remember?” 

He nods his head, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can look at her properly. He runs his hand over her head, smoothing out her hair and tucking it behind her ear before cradling her face. 

“That was the single greatest moment of my life,” he says. 

Usually, she would tease him for over exaggerating, but he’s right. Tonight was the happiest she can ever remember being. 

She smiles at him before sitting up on her elbows to meet him halfway for a kiss. Their mouths move together as their tongues explore, but the second he rolls on top of her and brushes against her center, they both separate with a hiss. 

“Sorry,” he says, reaching out to twist a curl between his fingers. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have sex again,” she says. “Every part of me still feels like a frayed wire.” 

“Was it…” Oliver pauses and looks down at her body. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for, though. “Was it good?” he asks, sounding like he’s back in middle school again rather than a fully grown man with years of sexual experience. 

“Life changing,” she says, reaching out to put her finger under his chin so he’s looking at her. “You were right. Beds are amazing.” 

He laughs and she can feel it through every inch of her body. She closes her eyes as he brushes against her again and does her best not to cry. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just too much.

“I know I should move, but I can’t,” Oliver says. “That was… God. I love you so much.” 

“I bet you do,” she says with a laugh. Who else would let him tease her like that? “I hope you know I hate you.” 

“You don’t,” he says, kissing her chest and resting his ear against her heart. 

“Not even a little bit,” she agrees with a content sigh, wishing she didn’t have to ever leave. 

Oliver’s a billionaire. She could just quit and they could spend the rest of their lives in this bed. 

“I told you…” he says. “Be in the moment.” 

“Yes… yes,” she says. “This is why I need you.” 

“For the orgasms?” he teases. 

“Yes. That’s the only reason,” she says. 

“I’ll gladly be your sex slave,” he says, and though she knows it’s a joke, he says it so seriously. She gets a mental picture of Oliver in handcuffs and a loin cloth and it sends a twinge to her center. 

“No more sex,” she whines as her walls clench painfully. “You broke me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, sounding a million miles away. His breathing evens out and she notices that he’s fallen asleep on top of her. She doesn’t have the heart to move him when he’s smiling and looking so content. 

She kisses the top of his head and rubs his back, closing her own eyes. Just for a minute. After all, she really doesn’t have to leave for another hour. 

****

Felicity wakes up to the sound of her phone going off and she groans. 

“What time is it?” she asks, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Ignore it,” he says, tugging on her wrist to try and get her to lay back down. 

“It’s Tommy,” she says, recognizing the ringtone. He’d programmed her phone a few weeks ago so that it would play “Sexy and I Know It” whenever he called and she hasn’t changed it, even though it mortifies her when it goes off in public. 

“What is that?” Oliver grumbles, making a face that’s part annoyed, part disgusted. 

“You can thank Tommy for that,” she says, rolling out of bed, causing him to complain loudly. 

She takes tentative steps towards the couch, definitely feeling the effects of their sex marathon. She hopes she’s not walking around bow legged all day. That would be rather difficult to explain. Especially since her office is mostly all men who already have a bad habit of making sexual jokes about her when they think she can’t hear them. 

“If I don’t answer it, he’ll think I’m lying in a ditch somewhere. Then we’ll have the entire SCPD out looking for me,” she says, grabbing her purse off of his couch and digging around for her phone. “Just let me tell him I’m alive and to fuck off.” 

When she locates her phone, she’s horrified to see that it’s already 8:15. She has to be at work in 45 minutes. Fuck! 

“Hello?” she answers the phone, frantically looking around the room for all of her clothes. 

“Where are you?” Tommy asks, sounding like he can’t decide if he’s pissed or worried. “You never came home.” 

She understands his panic. It’s not like her to spend the night away from the house. She never does it without calling him first. And with everything they went through when Oliver disappeared, it’s only natural he’d be concerned. 

“I’m fine, Tommy,” she reassures him as she locates her underwear and puts it on. 

“What are you doing?” Oliver complains. 

“Is that Oliver?” Tommy asks, his voice going from worried to amused in seconds. 

“Thank you for calling to check on me, but I’m fine,” she says to him, avoiding the question as Oliver gets out of bed and tries to stop her from putting her bra back on. 

“I bet you’re fine,” he says with a laugh. “I want details when you get home.” 

“Goodbye,” she says, hanging up on him as Oliver pulls her bra out of her hands and holds it over his head. 

“Oliver, I need that,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. She doesn’t have time for games. She’s going to be late for their weekly all-department meeting with Mr. Merlyn. 

“You’re getting dressed,” he says with a frown. 

“I’m going to be late for work,” she says, jumping up to try and grab the bra out of his hands. “What are we? 12? Can I please have my bra back?” 

Oliver wraps his arms around her and pulls her in for a kiss while she protests about how much trouble she’ll be in if he makes her late. When he pulls away, he hands her back her bra. 

“You are so gorgeous,” he says, taking a seat on the couch as she pulls the bra over her head. She looks down at herself and blushes, realizing that she had been standing here, talking on the phone without a stitch of clothing on. She looks at Oliver, and he’s hard. 

“No,” she says, holding her hand out to keep him away. “No more sex. You broke me.” 

“Do you know how many times we’ve woken up next to each other?” Oliver asks. 

She shrugs, looking around the room for her sweatshirt and pants. 

“You are so beautiful when you’re sleeping,” he says. “Sometimes I would just lay there and watch you; Pretend that you were mine.” 

Felicity stops from where she’s picked up her pants and stares at him, completely lovestruck. “Now you don’t have to pretend,” she says, biting her lip to try and contain her smile. 

“Yeah,” he sighs happily, as if that realization is just now hitting him. 

They are together now. This is a thing. No more waiting. No more longing. No more misunderstandings. Just the two of them together. 

“I need to go back home,” she says. “I don’t have any real clothes here.” 

“We should rectify that,” he says. 

She looks at him, shocked. Is he seriously about to have a drawer/closet space conversation with her when she’s already late for work? They haven’t even been together for 12 hours. 

“I also need to shower,” she says choosing not to comment. That’s a conversation that will need a lot more time. 

“Showers are good,” he says, standing up from the couch to walk over to her and grab her hand. 

“No,” she shakes her head. 

He just nods as he walks them towards the bathroom, and despite her protests, she follows him willingly. 

“I really don’t have time for this,” she says. “I just got a new promotion and Tommy’s dad is going to be at my morning meeting.” 

“I’m sure somewhere in this house are clothes that will fit you,” he says. “And think about how much quicker it will be if I’m helping you get washed up: Four hands have to be better than two.” 

She glares at him playfully as he turns the shower on and pulls off her bra. 

“Nothing Thea wears will fit over my thighs and it will be a cold day in hell when Moira lets me borrow her clothes,” she says, continuing to shake her head as Oliver pulls off her underwear. 

“Let me worry about that,” he says as he grabs her hand and starts to pull her into the shower. 

She knows that showering with him isn’t going to save her any time. If anything, it’s just going to make her even more late… but a wet Oliver is a delicious Oliver and she’s only human. 

She can just blame Tommy for her being late. After all, there has to be some benefit to being best friends with boss’s son. 

“I’m not wearing anything that one of your one-night stands wore,” she grumbles before letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water hits her sore muscles. 

She’s always wanted to shower in his bathroom. He has one of those giant walk-in showers with two different shower heads and wall fixtures that are clearly built for two people. Why his parents found this an appropriate bathroom to build him back when they were in second grade and the Queens bought and renovated this place, she doesn’t know. But god is she happy to take advantage of it now. 

“Anything those girls would wear is sure as hell not appropriate for the office,” she says.

“Hey, the girls I dated were classy,” he says, causing her to roll her eyes. 

“Sure,” she laughs. 

He pours out some body wash onto a washcloth and that’s when she looks down and really sees her body for the first time this morning. 

“Oh my god,” she says, noticing the fingerprints that are starting to bruise on her hips. She has hickeys on the top of her breasts and below her belly button. She moves her leg to see that there are two on her inner thigh. “Oliver,” she gasps, trying hard not to laugh. “What did you do?” 

“I may have gotten a little overzealous,” he says, sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” 

“People are going to think I’m being abused,” she says with a smile, but his face grows serious. 

“I would never hurt you,” he says, seriously. 

“I know that,” she reassures him. “But damn. You really went to town.” 

“You can cover it up,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “The only one that will be visible is the one on your neck but it’s not that dark. I’m sure some makeup will do the trick.” 

Normally, she isn’t crazy about hickeys. They make her feel like a high schooler who’s just gotten off in the back seat of her boyfriend’s car. But Oliver is looking so embarrassed and she’d enjoyed earning every single one of these marks so much that she can’t be upset. 

“Next time, it’s you that gets to walk around with my bite marks all over your body,” she says playfully, watching as his eyes grow dark. 

“Deal,” he says, kneeling in front of her and reaching for her leg. She knows that look in his eyes and instantly regrets teasing him. She grabs his wrist before he can start moving the washcloth over her, lathering her up. 

“We aren’t having sex in here,” she says seriously. “I’m too sore and we don’t have time.” 

“Noted,” he says with that sexy smile of his that should be illegal. “No sex. I was just going to help you get washed up.” 

“Mmhm.” She _bets_ that was his plan. 

“Can’t blame a guy for wanting to touch you as often as I can,” he says, rubbing the washcloth up her leg and gently washing the sex from between her thighs, careful not to press too hard against her still sensitive center. 

“You touched me plenty last night,” she says, playfully kicking him as she traces over the bruises on her hips. Thankfully, they don’t hurt. “I can’t believe you made me wait that long.” 

“It was worth it,” he says, kissing at the inside of her knee before standing up and turning her away from him so he can wash her back.

“Mmm,” she hums. That it was. 

She closes her eyes as she tilts her head back to rise out her hair, enjoying the mix of the warm water and his soft hands on her. She could get used to this. 

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, moving her hair out of the way so he can kiss the back of her neck, which confirms it. He’s obsessed with kissing her there. She’s not complaining. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be recovered by then,” she says, passing him the shampoo. If he’s going to stand there, he may as well make himself useful. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he says, taking the shampoo from her and lathering up her hair. 

She tries not to think about the whys. Like why he has shampoo and conditioner in here for girls. Or why she can see an extra box of pink razors in the caddy. Because everything in here is from 5 years ago and is completely irrelevant now.

“I’m surprised you stayed blonde,” he says, tilting her head back to help her rinse the shampoo out. 

“I liked it,” she says. “Why? Do you miss the brown? Or the black?” she says with distaste. Looking back at her goth phase now just makes her cringe. 

“I love it all,” he says, causing her to snort. 

“You’ve already gotten into my pants. You don’t have to use anymore lines.” 

“It’s not a line,” he says, reaching over her shoulder for the conditioner. “I don’t care what color your hair is, you’re beautiful regardless. I’m just surprised you wanted to be blonde. You always fought so hard not to be your mom.” 

Felicity shrugs. She’d never admit this to anyone else, especially not her mother, but this is Oliver. She’s always told him everything without judgement. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being my mom,” she says. 

“Of course not,” he says, running the conditioner through her hair. “Your mom is awesome.” 

Felicity nods. She does love her mom, even if she is a bit much at times. And their relationship has certainly gotten better over the last five years. Especially after her mom flew out and stayed with her the first month after the Gambit went down. Donna Smoak is a strong, confident, beautiful woman and Felicity is proud to be her daughter. 

“I draw the line at mesh dresses and corset tops, though,” Felicity says, looking over her shoulder. “So don’t get any ideas.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, taking the hair tie off of her wrist and pulling her hair up so that the conditioner can have time to soak in. “That dress you wore at my party is about all my heart could take.” 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have run off to play hero so you could have enjoyed it a little longer,” she says, leaning back against his chest as he begins washing her stomach, his hands moving up to wash her breasts, but he knows better than to spend too much time there. She feels a familiar twinge in her stomach, but she ignores it. She can’t _possibly_ have sex again. She’s already running late. 

Oliver hums in response, but doesn’t offer up any additional comments. Bringing up his extra curriculars seems to have brought down his mood. He still helps her wash up, but he’s not trying to make it sexual or tease her. He helps her wash the conditioner out of her hair and then hands her a towel, letting her know that she can start drying off, he’ll just be another minute. 

She steps into the bathroom, wrapping the giant towel around herself. She moves to the sink and opens the drawer where she knows that Raisa always keeps extra toothbrushes. She brushes her teeth as Oliver finishes up in the shower, wondering why he has to be so secretive about what it is he does. She’d hoped that last night would be enough to get them over that hump, but it his silence doesn’t make that likely. 

He steps out of the shower just as she’s dropping her toothbrush into the holder next to his. He smiles at the sight. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing, she’d just done it. The sight of her toothbrush next to his seems right though. 

“Are you going to tell Tommy?” he asks, wrapping a towel around himself and grabbing his toothbrush off of the sink. 

“About the amazing sex?” she asks, grabbing a blow dryer out from under the sink. 

“Only if I want a high five and an ‘about time, Smoak,’” she says, hoping up to sit on the countertop. “Though I’m pretty sure he already knows. He heard you on the phone. He has to know I’m here.” 

Oliver shakes his head. “No… Are you going to tell him… about me? About… everything?” 

“Oh.” 

Right, she thinks stupidly. Oliver’s biggest concern right now is keeping his secret. She fiddles with the blow dryer, feeling awkward all of a sudden. 

“I hadn’t planned on it. It’s not my secret to tell.” 

Oliver breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.” 

He smiles at that and kisses her quickly before stepping out of the bathroom.

“Oliver,” she calls after him and he sticks his head back in the door with his eyebrows raised in question. “You should tell him. Tommy doesn’t like liars.” 

“I can’t.” He shakes his head. 

“You could,” she says, disappointed. “You just don’t want to.” 

“Tommy isn’t like you, Felicity,” he says, moving to lean against the doorway with his arms crossed. “To him, the world is black and white. He doesn’t operate in the grey. He’s not going to understand what I’m doing.” 

“ _I_ don’t understand what you’re doing,” she says, setting the blow dryer down and jumping off the counter to go stand in front of him. 

“I’m trying to save this city,” he says, vehemently. 

“By killing people?” she asks, shaking her head. 

There has to be a better way. He’s a billionaire. He could do so much more good away from the hood. He could feed the hungry. House the poor. Educate the children. He could do anything. 

“There are people in this world that only operate in extremes. And if I want to stop them, I have to be willing to use extreme measures. Whatever the cost,” he says, as if he’s reading a script or something. 

“Whatever the cost?” she asks, shaking her head. “What if that cost is your life?” 

“Better mine than any of yours,” he says, dismissively. As if his life means nothing. As if she didn’t spent years crying over him. Like his entire family didn’t mourn his death. 

“No,” she says. “Your life isn’t any less valuable than ours.” 

“Agree to disagree,” he says, leaning over to kiss her before she can form another protest. He moves out of the bathroom towards his bed, but she follows after him. 

“This isn’t something I’m going to drop,” she says. 

“Of course not,” he says, picking up the phone by his bed. “Wouldn’t be you if you did.” 

Enters a number on the phone and when the other line picks up he says, “I need an outfit for a women’s size…” his eyes trail over her, sizing her up. “Four?” he sends her a questioning look. 

“Six,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her body self-consciously. 

“Six,” he corrects. “Something appropriate for the office… Yes… Thank you.” 

“Do I want to know who that was?” Felicity asks. 

“One of the staff,” he says, moving into his huge walk in closet to get dressed. 

“And you just happen to have clothes of all sizes lying around the house,” she asks in disbelief. 

She knows the Queens are loaded, but sometimes she can’t believe the odd things that rich people buy. What purpose could there possibly be for keeping clothes around that won’t fit anyone that lives in the home? 

This is like when she had to explain to Tommy that a two-thousand dollar bottle of tequila was a want not a need. Especially when the five dollar bottle gets the job done just as well. He claims he can taste the difference, but she’s poured the cheap stuff into the expensive bottle before and he most certainly _cannot_. 

“You know my mom. She likes to be prepared for anything,” Oliver says, before his voice goes up an octave and switches into an impressive imitation of Moira. “It’s important to be a good host, Oliver. What would the neighbors think if they asked for merlot and we only had cabernet?” 

He tosses his towel onto the floor, not bothering to hang it up as he pulls on a pair of boxers. She grabs the towel off the floor and tosses it into the laundry. 

When he gives her an amused look, she says, “Just because you have staff to do everything for you, doesn’t mean you can’t make their job easier.” 

“Fair enough,” he says, throwing a henley on, followed by a pair of jeans. She’s not going to lie, this is one of her favorite looks on him. She prefers him dressed down rather than in the old polos he used to wear. He looks much more _him_ , not like he’s trying too hard. 

“I’m sure this is not the situation Moira was imagining those clothes would be used for,” she says, giving him a pointed look. 

When he doesn’t say anything, she gets the sinking suspicion that he’s done this before. 

“This isn’t the first time,” she says, nodding her head, hating how anger starts to claw at her chest. There’s no reason for it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Why?” she asks. “Why does your mom keep clothes for the women you sleep with?” 

“She doesn’t keep them for the women I sleep with specifically,” he says, shifting nervously on his feet. “She keeps them for all of her guests… but I guess she got tired of girls doing a walk of shame out of here and ending up in the tabloids…” 

Felicity glares at him. “So now I’m just another girl you’ve slept with that she has to clean up after? God forbid Felicity Smoak ruin the family name?” 

“It’s not like that,” he says, making her scoff. “It’s not like that _with you_ ,” he quickly clarifies. 

There’s a knock at the door and Oliver goes to answer it while Felicity hides in the bathroom. She’s never going to be able to look any of the staff in the eyes if they see her in Oliver’s room wearing only a towel after they’ve just delivered her clothes. 

Why hadn’t she stopped to get dressed before leaving her apartment last night. Sure, she would have been stuck wearing clothes from the day before, but it would have been better than this. 

Oliver steps into the bathroom and hands her an — she hates to admit it — incredibly cute dress that she could never afford. 

“These are your skank clothes,” she says, with a tearful laugh, trying to sound unaffected but failing. She’s still angry and she can’t help it. 

She grabs the hanger out of his hands and removing the plastic cover left on it to keep the dust from destroying the clothes. “I’m one of your skanks.” 

That wasn’t exactly fair. She knows that none of the women who slept with Oliver are skanks. She hates that word. Women are allowed to be sexually promiscuous without another woman attacking them for it. She knows this. She firmly believes this. She’s just feeling insecure all of a sudden at the realization that she’s just another woman in an impressively long line of women to sleep with Oliver. What makes her different? What’s going to make them last when he’s never been able to make it last with anyone, including Laurel, who he claimed to love? 

She sets the dress down on the counter and angrily wipes at her eyes, annoyed that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from getting worked up in front of him. 

“Felicity,” he says softly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms until she calms down. 

“You’re not one of those girls,” he says adamantly, lowering himself so that he’s at eye level with her. 

“Do you know how ridiculous it is that your mom keeps clothes around the house for the women you sleep with?” she grumbles. 

“She also keeps clothes around for guests. For if they spill something or have a wardrobe malfunction or whatever else causes women to feel the need to change clothes immediately,” he says. 

She huffs out a sigh, realizing that she’s just thrown a minor temper tantrum and though she feels validated in her anger, it probably wasn’t the most mature way to handle things. 

“I’m not the kind of girl who needs to be cleaned up after,” she says, uncrossing her arms and standing up straight.

“You’re not,” he agrees. 

“I’m bringing an overnight bag next time,” she says, pointedly. She doesn’t know why it matters so much, but to her it does. Bringing a bag to stay over. Having her own toothpaste, her own shampoo, and her own clothes make her feel more legitimate somehow. Like she’s not some afterthought that he’s using to pass the time. 

“Please do,” he says with a smile. “I’d like that very much.” 

She nods and takes the towel off, pointedly hanging it up on the hook behind the door. She takes the tags off the clothes, feeling much better about the fact that the dress and underwear are brand new. At least she’s not walking out of here wearing anything that another one of his women has worn before. She steps into the dress and turns around so that he can do up the top button and zipper. 

He does, and when he finishes, he places a kiss to the back of her neck, making her smile. This is going to become a thing of his, she can already tell. 

She glances in the mirror quickly to make sure that she looks alright. Thankfully, the high neck of the sleeveless dress covers up any marks Oliver left on her. She’ll have to throw some makeup on in the car, but otherwise, she doesn’t look half bad. She’d been worried she’d look like a zombie after not sleeping and that everyone at the office would know she’d just spent the entire night having a sex marathon with her best friend. 

“Oliver?” she asks, turning around to face him, biting her lip, deciding to ask him the question that’s been eating away at her for years. Ever since he left her that phone call before getting on the Gambit. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” he asks. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asks. 

She doesn’t have to explain herself. He understands what she’s asking right away. 

“Because I was terrified of what your answer would be,” he says, reaching out to hold onto both of her hands. 

“You thought I’d reject you,” she says with a nod. It was the same fear she’d always had. 

He shakes his head. “No. Just the opposite. Around high school, I started noticing the way you would look at me sometimes. I knew I could get you to agree to date me. I was worried about what came after.” 

“You were afraid of commitment,” she says. It makes sense. He never was able to stick with one girl for long before cheating on her. 

He shakes his head again. “I was afraid you’d date me for awhile and realize that I wasn’t what you wanted. That I wouldn’t be able to give you want you needed. Then we’d break up and you’d never talk to me again. I couldn’t lose you. As much as I wanted you to be mine, I needed you to be my friend even more.” 

“Oh,” she says, surprised by his response. 

“Yeah.” 

She squeezes his hands in comfort, and he gives her a sad smile. 

“So you slept with god knows how many women instead,” she says. They lost so much time. They let their insecurities get in the way and the result was years of time together gone. 

“I’m sorry.” He looks up from where he’s been staring at their hands to meet her eyes. 

“It’s okay,” she says with a sad smile. “I don’t know why I’m upset. I knew you slept around and it never bothered me before.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Because it bothers me to know that you’ve been with other men. The fact that Tommy put condoms in your purse? That bothers me,” he says. 

She snorts. She’d gotten that memo. She’d gotten that memo all the way back in seventh grade with Alex Holder, but she’d just misunderstood _why_ it bothered him so much. 

Oliver shuffles closer to her so that they are almost chest to chest, then he says, “I think maybe it always did bother you but you convinced yourself that it didn’t.” 

Damn him. He always knows her so well, and she has to admit, he’s probably right. After all, why else would she criticize every women Oliver brought home when she barely batted an eye at the ones Tommy did. It’s not like they weren’t sleeping with the same kind of women. And Felicity makes it a point to never criticize other women. It goes against her feminist nature, but somehow, with Oliver, she never liked the women he was with. 

“Felicity?” 

“Yeah?” 

“There won’t be any more women,” he promises.

She nods, wanting to believe him. He sounds so sincere, but she also knows his track record. She knows how many times he made that exact same promise to Laurel. What’s so special about her? What is it about _her_ that’s going to solve his fear of commitment? She’s not naive enough to think that she can magically be the one girl that can fix Oliver. That’s the trap she’s watched too many friends fall into and get hurt over. 

“I know that I don’t have a good track record with monogamy,” he says, and she nods in agreement. “I cheated a _lot_ on Laurel and that has to make you nervous. But I swear to you that I would never cheat on you. You’re different.” 

“How?” she asks, wanting to believe him. 

“Because with Laurel, I never really loved her,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of time to… reflect on things on the island. With Laurel, I was just scared of being alone. We both were trying to make each other into somebody we weren’t and that was a lot of pressure. So I cheated on her. It was wrong. It’s one of my biggest regrets, but it happened. It won’t happen with you.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

Oliver pulls her into his arms and she presses her ear against his heart as he places a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Because I don’t need to make you into anyone else,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret for the two of them to share. “I’ve been in love with you for over half my life. You’re exactly who I’ve always wanted. I already know you and you already know me. All of me. The good, the bad, and the… illegal. We aren’t going into this blind. This is what I want. _You’re_ who I want.” 

Felicity pulls away from him and smiles as he cradles her face with his hands. 

“You, too,” she says, kissing the palm of his hand. He leans in and kisses her on the lips tenderly. 

“Now I’m really going to be late for work,” she says when he pulls away, making him laugh. 

“Call in sick,” he teases. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Felicity groans. She’s tempted. Seriously tempted, but she can’t. For one, she honestly thinks he’ll break her if they try to have sex again before her body has a chance to heal. 

“I bet you would,” she says, stepping out of his arms and walking back into his room to grab her purse. Her hair is still wet, but she’ll throw it up in a ponytail when she gets to work. 

He grabs onto her wrist and spins her around so that he can kiss her again. 

“Oliver,” she protests. 

“I love you,” he says, kissing he one last time before pulling away and holding her hand. “I’ll walk you out.” 

She nods, thankful that he’s not going to pressure her to stay any longer, because she’s pretty sure one or two more times and she would have caved. And really, she has to be on her game at work now that she’s been promoted. 

“Thank you for last night,” he says as they walk down the hall, hand in hand. “And this morning.” 

She wants to tell him to be quiet. That she doesn’t want anyone to hear them and come out. But she doesn’t have the heart to tell him so when he’s being so sweet. She squeezes his hand. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says quietly. “Last night was…” 

She searches for the right word but can’t find one that accurately describes how perfect it was. 

“It was,” he says, smiling down at her, taking the hand that he’s holding onto and placing a kiss to the back of it. 

They walk down the stairs and Felicity holds her breath as they pass through the entryway, convinced that Moira is going to step out at any minute and notice them. She continues to glance over her shoulder as he walks her down the hall and towards the garage where he’d parked her car last night. But miraculously, nobody sees them. Not even any of the staff. 

She breathes out a sigh of relief once they step into the garage and the door is closed behind them. 

“This isn’t high school,” Oliver teases her. “You’re allowed to spend the night at a man’s house.” 

“Yes, well if it was my mom we were going have to walk out past, I wouldn’t have cared,” she says. “But your mom hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Oliver says with a roll of his eyes. 

She crosses her arms and stares him down until he caves. “Alright, fine. She’s not your biggest fan. But I don’t understand why.” 

“Because I’m the reason you got on the Gambit,” she says, shaking her head as she pushes back the guilt. 

“What? No you’re not,” he says, shocked. 

Felicity grabs the keys off of the hook and walks towards her car, purposefully avoiding his eyes. 

“I asked you to go on the Gambit with me, but I would have gone with or without you,” he says, grabbing onto her wrist to make her turn around. “And knowing what I know now, I’m so grateful you weren’t on there with me.” 

“I was supposed to be a good influence on you,” she says, with a self-deprecating laugh, repeating the words Moira had told her all those years ago. “That’s what your dad always told your mom when she said we shouldn’t be friends. That I would keep you out of trouble.” 

“You did,” he says. 

Felicity shakes her head. “When you went to Harvard, your parents thought you’d finally stay in school because I was there to keep you on track. But I didn’t. You got kicked out.” 

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says. 

“Your mom thinks it is.” She shrugs. 

“She’s wrong. I got myself kicked out,” he says. “I made some bad decisions, but none of those are a reflection on you.” 

“Maybe she’s right,” Felicity says, more to herself than him. She’s thought it before. “I was so involved with Cooper that I stopped contacting you. I stopped reaching out to see how you were. We didn’t talk for months. I had no idea what you were doing at school… or what you weren’t doing.” 

“That _wasn’t_ your fault,” he says, growing upset. “And what the hell does me getting kicked out have to do with the Gambit anyway?” 

“If you were in school, you would have been in Boston, and you wouldn’t have been available to go out on the Gambit with your dad,” she says. 

“That’s a whole lot of ifs,” he says. “You have no idea if any of that is true. I still might have gotten on the Gambit. I was pretty stubborn.” 

She gives him a sad smile and kisses him on the cheek before unlocking her car. 

“I’m glad you’re home, Oliver,” she says. 

“Felicity, please don’t blame yourself,” he says, putting his hand against her car door so that she can’t open it. 

“Why not?” she asks. “Your mom blames me.” 

“That’s because it’s easier to blame you than it is to blame herself. But it’s nobody’s fault. A storm hit. Nobody could have predicted that,” he says. “I’ve been on that boat hundreds of times with my dad and nothing ever happened. It was an accident. It’s nobody’s fault.” 

“Okay,” she says, trying to accept his words as truth, but it’s hard. Especially now that she’s seen what his time away has done to him. 

“I love you,” he says carefully, slowly, making sure each word sinks in. “I’m sorry that my mom doesn’t like you, but I love you. And I don’t blame you for what happened to me. And mine is the only opinion that matters.” 

She laughs at that. That’s what she used to tell him when they were kids. When she would try and convince him to do something that their classmates didn’t want to, she’d tell him that her opinion was the only one that mattered, and he’d believe her. Every time. 

“I love you, too,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. “I have to work late tonight. There’s a board meeting to approve my promotion and they want to meet with me. I’ll be back home after that.” 

“You’re not going to come over tonight?” he asks, looking disappointed. 

Felicity smiles, realizing what she'd done. She kisses him on the nose. “I just called you home, silly.” 

Oliver beams at her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his forehead against hers. “This is home,” he agrees, giving her a tight squeeze. 

“My Compass,” she says, bringing up the words he told her back in middle school. “My North Star. My home.” 

She pauses between each, to give him a kiss. 

“For as long as you’ll have me,” he says, helping her into her car. 

“Always sounds pretty good to me, how about you?” she asks him with a smile.

“Always it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> Part 2/2 will be out next week.


End file.
